


Vervain, Mugwort, & Other Magiferous Plants

by Shiba_with_a_Typewriter



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Adventure, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Horror, Multi, Mystery, Other, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiba_with_a_Typewriter/pseuds/Shiba_with_a_Typewriter
Summary: A Hjallan lock specialist receives mysterious summons to Vesuvia.(An alternate, Courtier-focused route.)
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Portia Devorak/Nadia, Valdemar (The Arcana)/Original Character(s), Volta/Vulgora (The Arcana)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. Arrival

Located in a southerly basin along the coast, there exists a city-state cut into the very stone of the cliffs. Famed for its position as a port city, Vesuvia is a region crisscrossed with canals and serves as a conjunction for dozens of cultures. To outsiders, it conjures images of gondolas, masquerades, white marble statues amidst lush gardens, and the glittering white-and-gold Vesuvian Palace.

Vesuvia’s mild climate makes it ideal for travel and sightseeing from early Spring to late Summer.

_And yet_ … I thought, disembarking the ship and wrinkling my nose, _none of the travel books mentioned how stinky it would be._

To be fair, I was pretty sure none of the travel books I’d been reading had been updated since the Red Plague. I’d been assured by fellow passengers that the plague had fizzled out entirely a few years ago, but I’d still felt just a little tentative about making the journey. Part of me couldn’t help but wonder if it still lingered on the edges of Vesuvia, waiting to reinfect the population.

And although the plague itself had ceased its death toll upon the people, I could only assume by first glance that the city itself had never really recovered.

The smell of the docks was downright cloying. Reaching into the back of my throat and settling there like some sort of sickness, I felt nauseous just trying to navigate through the crowd.

I retched slightly, certain I was green in the face as I placed my handkerchief over my nose and ignored the odd looks I received from people about me. There’d been a summer storm rolling inland as my ship was coming into port, and the sloshing waves had shaken up my insides something fierce.

Most of the people arriving off the ships were merchants, here to sell their wares in the famed Floating Market. Shipments of fragrant spices, bolts of richly-hued fabric, and every other product under the sun were all being unloaded. I even spotted a merchant holding a huge tethered bird with opalescent white feathers. It’d be a marvelous sight if not for how seasick I felt, which the unpleasantness of the docks was not helping with.

In sharp contrast to the well-dressed merchants, I noticed a different sort of populace as I stumbled closer to the shoreline.

Drab clothes and lined faces were all about me — signs of an impoverished place. The stench of filth and raw sewage permeated the air, and glancing down I observed that the beach itself was cast grey with some sort of pollution. I peered closer, furrowing my brow a little; it looked as if actual ashes were intermingled into the sand itself.

If I’d been superstitious, it would’ve seemed a grim portent.

I decided I’d already had enough with sightseeing. And according to the letter I’d received, there should’ve been a carriage awaiting my arrival somewhere nearby.

“Of course, it would’ve been helpful if the letter had mentioned what the carriage looked like…” I muttered under my breath, my eyes scanning through the dozens of carriages awaiting both cargo and fellow travelers.

I made my way forward several steps, eager to be away from the sea and the smell of fish it carried with it. Rain started to soak through my heavy green traveling cloak, and I shivered and hurried along.

Then I spotted it — a carriage that immediately caught my eye. Pulling away from the others, it gleamed with golden struts and varnished wood. I instinctively knew that this had to be it. The carriage was an unmistakable match for the invitation I’d received.

The exquisitely written letter had been scarce in details, but it gave me the impression that subtlety wasn’t exactly my potential employer’s strong point.

I wove through the throng of people, trying to ignore their sallow cheeks and staring eyes as I walked over to stand in front of the carriage door. It swung open with surprising force, and I found myself staring up into bright blue eyes. A wild mane of red hair dangled over the shorter woman’s shoulders, and a hesitant smile sat balanced on her features. She quickly emerged from the carriage, extending out a hand to shake mine as she addressed me in a slightly breathless voice.

“Hey, you’re here! Or at least, I _think_ you’re the person I’m supposed to be picking up,” the woman said, scrunching her nose slightly and giving me a suspicious look. “Nadia just told me that someone would be waiting on the docks when I arrived.”

I picked up the slightest hint of irritation in her voice as she said this, as though this “Nadia” person keeping secrets from her was somewhat of an affront.

With some effort I managed to give a weak smile, my insides still sloshing about as my head spun and the taste of bile edged around my tongue. However, I still had enough sense to reach within my cloak, pulling the envelope out from inside of it. I held it out to her.

“I believe this should be enough verification,” I said, suddenly a little nervous about the possibility that I’d picked the wrong carriage.

I expected her to closely scrutinize it, but the woman only gave it a brief glance before nodding her head, her hair already becoming frizzy in the rain. An amused smile crept up her face at the sight of it.

“Good, good, let’s get you inside the carriage then! Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold out here.” She glanced at my case and offered out a hand.

“I can take that for you,” she offered.

I sharply shook my head before replying in an embarrassed voice, “Thank you, but I’d rather hold onto it.” A sparkle of curiosity gleamed in the woman’s eyes, but she simply nodded.

“Suit yourself,” she said before she stepped back into the carriage, and I followed suit, clambering in behind her.

The interior of the carriage was just as lavish as the outside, and I gladly sat on a plush velvet-cushioned seat. Fat raindrops pattered loudly on the metal roof above us, and the carriage began its bumpy ascent into the city.

I sat there quietly for a while, handkerchief still pressed to my nose. My chaperone was situated right across from me, fidgeting slightly as she kept glancing from me to my bags.

Finally, she cleared her throat, and in a chipper voice asked, “So, mister, or, uh, miss…?”

I shook my head, dismissing both options.

“Ah, neither, I see!” she said, a flush darkening her freckled cheeks.

“So, I should probably introduce myself! My name’s Portia. I’m the head servant at the palace.” I nodded my head politely and accepted the hand that was offered out to me, even as my stomach lurched. I clamped the handkerchief tighter, trying to block out the smells of the city around me. The inside of the carriage itself was pleasantly fragranced, but it didn't fully cover the decay of the outer districts.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, trying to clear my head as the whole world continued to swim.

There was a moment of silence before Portia asked in a prodding fashion. “And your name is…?”

“Finch,” I replied plainly.

Portia tilted her head, looking me up and down before replying with a laugh.

“Suits you.”

I wasn’t sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult, so I decided to remain quiet. Her grin faded as she glanced toward the window, expression shifting to a troubled frown.

Instead of dampening the smell of rot, the rain only seemed to be intensifying it as we drove through the poverty-stricken streets.

“Not all of Vesuvia is like this,” she promised, hands twitching in her lap. “I’m sure you’re aware of what happened, with my lady Nadia being in a coma for three years. And, well, the plague.” I blinked, my dizzy mind processing this information. 

So, it had been the mysterious Countess herself that had hired me. That certainly explained the strangeness of the letter.

“But hey, I assume you’re here to assist her in getting things back in order. I mean, she didn’t actually tell me that, but why else would you be here?” It took me a couple seconds before I realized that this wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. The letter I’d received had been more than a little bit vague on the details. Two weeks ago, I’d received it back in my home in Hjalle from a courier who’d been paid specifically to deliver it to me.

The letter had been written in a cursive, sweeping font on amaranthine parchment. There’d been a sweet smell of lavender when I’d opened the envelope. Additionally, it was accompanied by a satchel containing a generous sum of coins — a “gesture of goodwill” as explained by the writing, intended to cover any travel costs.

With no specifics on the sender, the nature of the job, or even the exact location I’d be working in, the invitation was cryptic and more than a little suspicious.

The sum of money itself had been enough to intrigue me, but it wasn’t quite enough to convince me to drop everything in my life to travel to a distant country. If anything won me over, it’d be the actual mystery of the thing. I’d mulled it over in my mind again and again for several days after receiving it, and finally came to a decision.

Of course I had to go. I was just too _curious._

“The Countess,” I began, leaning towards Portia as I concentrated, trying to read her face. “Does she often acquire help like this?” Portia paused, mulling the question over in her head.

“How do you mean?”

“Does she usually give those she hires so little information?” Portia pursed her lips.

“Well, she is secretive… she’s the type to play her cards close to her chest, if you know what I mean.” Her voice contained both familiarity and a little worry. So, Nadia was secretive... which at the very least shed a little light on my situation.

While not stated explicitly in the letter, I’d assumed that I was being sought for my particular line of work. It was a somewhat niche profession.

In the security trade, magic was rarely considered a first option. Most of the time if someone wanted a building to be protected, a simple lock was a much more practical and less expensive option. Or, if you insisted on having magic involved, any magician worth their salt should be able to cast a simple protective ward.

But if you wanted something _really_ protected… that’s where my occupation came in.

Charms that intertwined together to make something entirely new, magically tamper-free locks, conjurations with unusual strength— these drew in steady business from customers who just wanted something a little bit _extra._

Considering the secrecy, I could only assume that the Countess had some unusual project in mind.

“So, what is it you do?” Portia asked, leaning forward. Her eyes sparkled with interest. I did my best to think of an answer that wouldn’t take a lot of explaining.

“I, uh, have some expertise in locks,” I said, settling on something simple. Portia looked a little disappointed.

“Oh, really? That’s all?” I nodded my head, watching as she frowned for a moment before hitching a smile back onto her face.

“Well, you know what, that probably is a pretty interesting profession! I’m more for breaking locks, though.” She winked at me, and I stared at her, trying to figure out if she’d just admitted to burglary.

“Although, I suppose I understand why my lady would want some new locks about the palace…” Portia continued, her expressive pensive.

“Oh?” I prompted, curious for more information. Portia bit her lower lip, glancing towards the window.

“It’s… been a bit tricky, getting everything put back together after milady was asleep for so long. I can see why she’d want a little extra security.” I shifted in my seat, slowly lowering the handkerchief and taking in a careful breath of air. It seemed that we’d passed the worst of the stench, and the city now simply smelled of the ever-pouring rain and the sharp spices of baked goods.

The architecture too had gradually shifted from dreary, long-neglected buildings to white stone edifices adorned with gleaming pillars. The view was beginning to actually resemble the illustrations I’d seen in my travel guides.

I caught a whiff of freshly-baked bread as the carriage slowed. The rain had reduced from a downpour to a light drizzle, and I scanned the outside of the carriage as Portia continued to speak.

“I mean, the city never really recovered from the plague — not fully at least, so she’s got a lot to do.”

I simply nodded my head, observing the individuals outside who made their way through the light shower. A flash of color caught my eye, and I turned to glance towards a large flight of stairs.

I noted two figures standing there, one of whom was carrying an orange-colored loaf in his hands. Both wore vibrant clothing, and my mind was distracted from Portia for a second. It took me a moment to pinpoint what exactly about them was catching my eye, and then I glimpsed the particular satchels at their sides. _Magicians._

The pair of them were dressed differently from the magicians of my home city. In Hjalle, magicians distinguished themselves with heavy, opulent cloaks. It made sense that there’d be a different dress sense here; it’d be absurd to wear wool garments year-round in a region that was generally so warm.

There was one thing that could be universally used to recognize a magician no matter where you went, however: their specialized bags used to carry herbs, minerals, and other materials. I noticed one of the magicians carried an unusual, rectangular-shaped pouch, and it took me another moment to discern its purpose. _Tarot cards._

At this realization, I nearly rolled my eyes. There were some who believed that gifted magicians could read the cards to predict the future, calling upon higher beings to impart advice and wisdom.

Personally, I’d always associated the cards with charlatans.

As I stared out at the two standing together, the taller one’s eyes darted upwards. Purple eyes glanced at me from under a fluffy mass of white hair, and I saw an air of detached curiosity as I passed him. I leaned back in my seat, suddenly not keen on looking out the window anymore. Of course, this left me at the mercy of Portia, who had continued to talk while I’d found myself distracted by the magicians.

“— and let me tell you, I don’t think the chamberlain was keeping track of the keys _at all_ while Nadia was asleep. You wouldn’t _believe_ how long it took us to find the key to the third bathroom down the East corridor.” She trailed off, glancing towards me.

“Did she say anything else in that letter she sent you?”

“Well... it was written pretty vaguely,” I said, wondering how much information I should divulge. “I wasn’t even aware of who sent it, to be honest.”

Portia was obviously keen to get to the bottom of why the Countess had hired me. And even though I’d been truthful in saying the letter was vague, I wasn’t sure that I should tell her anything else. I had no idea what Portia’s relationship to the Countess was... or how much the Countess desired to keep secret.

“Tell me about the palace,” I said in an effort to divert the conversation. “Is there anything interesting I should know?”

My ploy worked, and Portia puffed out her cheeks, looking thoughtful. 

“Well, no doubt you’ve heard about the masquerades that used to be held here…” I nodded my head in affirmation. The famous Vesuvian masquerades were a highlight in the travel books I’d read. And if I recalled correctly, the previous count had been notorious for throwing some particularly wild ones.

Then, Portia’s face lit up.

“Oh, have you heard about the supposed ghostly hauntings?” I did my best to hide my skepticism as I shook my head. 

“No, I haven’t heard anything about that.” 

Portia scooted closer, her face torn between being gravely serious and brimming with unbridled curiosity.

“It’s said that a ghost haunts the halls of the palace. I mean, there’ve always been rumors — I’ve heard plenty of stories from the older staff… but now it seems hardly a week goes by without a report of some spooky activity!” She waggled her eyebrows for dramatic effect, and I did my best to look intrigued. 

“Oh, and of course there’s the whole mystery of the murder of the Count, but I’m sure you’ve already heard of _that_ one.”

Right — the Vesuvian Count had been murdered. I’d nearly forgotten about that little bit of trivia. I tapped my fingers on my case. I remembered hearing gossip about it a few years ago, even in Hjalle. When a member of royalty is set ablaze in his own bed just about anywhere in the world, the news tends to make a big wave.

“I have, it’s… interesting. I didn’t realize it was still an ongoing mystery. Wasn’t there a suspect? The Count’s own personal physician, or something?”

Portia fidgeted, before saying in an oddly careful voice, “Well, he was accused of it, yes.”

She seemed strangely hesitant, and I was suddenly keen to ask her more, but as I opened my mouth, the carriage pulled to a sudden stop. Portia sat up straight, glancing outward.

“Oh good, we’re here.” With that, she was out the door, holding it open for me. I gathered my case and travel bags to my chest, and stepped out into the crisp air of a slowly falling night. I watched Portia approach a large gate, waving to a pair of guards.

“Hey, open up! I’ve got a guest for the Countess,” she called out, gesturing back to me. The guards waved back and nodded, obviously recognizing her. 

Portia turned to me with a smile.

“Well, come on, let’s get you inside. My lady has a room set up for you, and after you’ve dried off and changed, she’s invited you to dinner.”

I felt my stomach give a sickening lurch at the thought of eating, the seasickness having not fully relinquished its grip. I knew it would be uncouth to spurn the dinner invitation of a countess, however — not to mention that I was very much interested in meeting the mysterious woman who had sent me the letter.

I followed her without argument, dodging puddles as we made our way across the bridge. She was talking again, but I found myself distracted, my mind buzzing with intrigue.

The Vesuvian Palace was wholly visible now, and I was struck with how much more vast it was compared to the black-and-white illustration in the tourist guidebook I’d taken with me. _Not that I blame the artist_ , I thought, straining my neck upwards to take in the full scope of it. _It’d be impossible to properly capture the sheer proportions of a structure like this._

Just imagining how many rooms were in the building dazzled my mind. I could hardly believe that I’d shortly be a guest within its walls.

At the center of the palace’s facade, an enormous stained-glass window glittered in the descending evening. The light from inside shone warmly, promising shelter from the cold rains outside, and yet… staring at it, I couldn’t shake the thought that there was a hollowness to it.

An odd chill began to grip at my insides. I couldn’t identify what it was — it felt as if I’d accidentally swallowed an ice cube. I’d never been what one would call spiritually sensitive, but something felt somehow _off_ as I approached.

Lost in thought in these strange contradictory feelings, my eyes fell downwards. In the fading light, I could see that moat’s brackish water surface was somehow writhing ever so slightly. Despite the rain, I came to a stop, peering over the edge of the bridge with burning curiosity.

“ _What are those things?_ ” I muttered to myself, staring closer. It was not until one of them squirmed from the depths, splashing against the dark surface of the water, that I got a clear look at one. I felt a soft gasp exit my lips.

It was an eel, but not of any variety I’d ever seen before. It was large, with a slender head and an undulating length of pale flesh trailing behind it. Its body was transparent, and my eyes became fixated on the milk-white and pinkish organs that pulsed softly inside.

Within what seemed to be its stomach chamber, the color was bright blood-red.

I heard a pointed cough from right beside me. I nearly jumped out of my skin before turning around and finding a slightly irritable Portia standing just feet away, looking as if she’d very much rather not be stuck in the rain.

“What sort of eels are those?” I asked, before she got a second to chastise me.

“Oh! Those are the vampire eels,” answered Portia, taking a quick downward glance as well.

“Count Lucio’s the one who had ‘em dumped in there. They’re spooky, but I actually feel kinda bad for the things. They’re originally from way further south, and they always look kinda sad in the summer heat.”

She grinned at me. “You should see it when the servants feed them, though. It’s just ghastly!” I looked down at the eels below me. _Ghastly indeed._

“Look, we should probably head inside. You really will catch something if you keep standing about in the rain.” She was right, and I turned my attention away from the odd sight below us.

The interior of the palace was just as warm as I’d hoped, and I pulled my hood from my short, rain-slicked hair. We walked through a foyer with a fountain as its centerpiece, a bronze goat playing amidst the jetting streams of water.

Servants cast dirty looks at Portia and I as we dripped trails of water behind us. Despite the warmth, I found myself shivering. The uncanny feeling of an ice cube unexpectedly slipping down my throat still wasn’t going away.

I followed Portia deeper and deeper into seemingly endless white marble halls, my mind turning more to the comforts of a room.

Portia was giving me a cursory tour of the palace as we went along when I saw a lone figure standing in the hallway in front of us. Something about them struck me as so odd that as I passed them, I found myself coming to a pause.

The individual was staring intently at a marble wall, looking lost in thought. Their body was so oddly still as they paused there, unmoving, that in my peripheral vision I’d almost taken them for a sculpture.

They were clad in white clothing, and they wore some pale garment on their head with two protrusions, angled back almost like horns. A cloth mask covered their nose and mouth, and as I stared at them, I got the uncanny feeling that something was wrong — some small detail that my mind was having a very hard time processing.

They tilted their head, finally moving for the first time as they carefully considered the blank stone, oblivious to all around them. As we passed by, my stomach gave another lurch as a faint whiff of sterilizing chemicals reached my nose.

I rubbed my head, and was startled to feel a hand descend onto my shoulder. I whirled around to find a red-faced and clearly bemused Portia behind me.

“Finch, please, we’re nearly to your room. The palace is pretty big, and if you wander off, it’s going to be hard to find you!” I felt a slight blush of shame sneak up my cheeks.

I turned back to look at where the figure had been, only to catch a glimpse of them exiting the hall, their stride even and purposeful. I felt a surge of annoyance for a second, as though Portia had somehow scared them away, before dismissing the thought as ridiculous.

“Sorry,” I apologized, catching up to her.

Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I couldn’t help but ask.

“That person back in the hall… who were they?” She glanced back, a confused look on her face.

“What did they look like?” she asked, and I realized she must’ve not seen them.

“They were wearing a white uniform, with some sort of odd headdress. I… think they had bandages wrapped about their head…” Portia pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“Ooh, that would be Quaestor Valdemar. Luckily for you, they don’t really wander about the palace much, so you probably won’t have to talk to them. They’re a little bit… well, creepy.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask more, though I felt questions bubbling up in my mind as Portia hurried me on. She seemed friendly enough towards me, but keen to get me stowed away for the evening. I couldn’t say I blamed her. Social grace was never really my forte, and I was sure that I’d made several social blunders I was unaware of.

To be fair, the seasickness was putting a lot of pressure on my mind. With an air of decisiveness, Portia stopped outside a door and pointed me towards it.

“There you are! Now, make yourself at home — I’ll come back over for you in just a bit,” she assured me, handing me a key. 

“Thank you,” I replied, and she simply nodded and turned as I pulled open the door. I staggered into the room, looking about it with interest as I placed my case down next to the bed. 

To my sincere relief, a change of clothes had been provided to replace my soaked ones, folded neatly on my bed.

The finely-furnished room was probably considered small by palace standards, but “cozy” was exactly what I needed at that moment.

My eyes caught a mirror and I moved over to it, glancing at my weary reflection. Dark brown eyes stared back at me, umber hair plastered against my head from the rain. With an exhausted sigh, I slid my dripping cloak off, placing it onto a chair beside the vanity.

Before resting, I took a small object from my pocket. It was a pomander — a silver ornamental sphere containing herbs and sweet-scented oils. Bringing it to my nose, I inhaled a fragrance of spruce needles, cinnamon, and woodsmoke. It smelled like home, and made me feel wistful.

I placed the pomander on the nightstand beside me, and promptly collapsed onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is co-written between me and my spouse! 
> 
> As this is a horror-centric fic, we may add chapter-specific warnings in the author notes in the future.


	2. The Banquet

Somewhere around an hour after collapsing on my bed, Portia had knocked on my door. Feeling bleary and disoriented, I’d had to coax myself into putting on a fresh change of clothes and stumble out of my room.

At present, I found myself sitting in an elegant dining hall. Across the table was an immense oil painting of mythical beings enjoying their own lavish feast at the behest of a goat-headed man.

Somehow, the lingering nausea melted away as huge serving dishes and brimming plates were laid on the table before me. The food looked incredible. Most of it consisted of distinctly Vesuvian dishes: tarts inlaid with summer savory, eel garnished with pine nuts, and violet artichokes braised in wine, to name just a few.

Although... after witnessing those creatures in the moat, I decided I’d probably skip the eel.

Alongside these, there were a few less-familiar dishes I recognized as Prakran. Complex and rich spices wafted up from them, and I made a mental note to grab a ladleful of some sort of stew with wild rice when I had the chance.

With all the enticing food that surrounded me, it was almost easy to forget why I’d been summoned here. Wrenching my eyes away from the dishes, I forced myself to look towards the woman sitting at the far end of the table. She had long flowing hair that nearly glowed with a sheen of tyrian purple. She was unequivocally beautiful, with striking red eyes that surveyed the warm bodies about the table in a way that discomforted me a bit.

Seated alongside the table next to me were, from what I’d gathered, various bureaucrats and high-ranking palace staff.

My eyes darted to a young man who sat closest to Nadia. His hair was dark with a shimmer of red somewhere in it, his hickory skin only a shade lighter than the Countess’s. He had a friendly smile on his face as eyes the color of honey glanced about the table with interest.

I recognized him immediately. He was one of the magicians I’d seen earlier in the marketplace — the two whom I’d assumed were charlatans. I was genuinely surprised to see him here, and leaned forward a little in my seat in curiosity.

From my position at the table, I could see the Countess quietly speaking to him. It seemed as though he was some sort of guest of honor. Hopefully, I’d get some sort of explanation for who he was.

My wish was granted when the Countess cleared her throat, gazing about her audience with an air that commanded attention.

“Before we eat, I would like to introduce you all to a face that you are going to start to see around the palace,” she gestured one elegant hand towards the man, who looked somewhat flustered by all of this and gave a small wave.

“His name is Phoenix, and he is to be allowed free rein of the palace during his stay. As many of you already know, he’ll be assisting me in the investigation of Count Lucio’s death.”

There seemed to be murmurs of agreement. If the presence of the magician at dinner had surprised me a minute ago, now I was _definitely_ taken aback. Did the Countess just openly appoint a marketplace fortune-teller to solve a murder case?

But then again… perhaps there was some critical detail I was missing. I tentatively decided to wait until I had more information.

“Now, Phoenix, I owe you a few introductions.” I looked back up as Nadia gestured across from her towards an elegantly dressed man who was sipping a deep red wine from his cup, his eyebrows slanted off in a glare.

“This is Consul Valerius. His function is to assist in the daily running of the city.”

Her eyes glanced down the table, and I followed them, focusing on the two individuals sitting at the back.

It seemed that though social custom dictated that no one start eating yet, someone was already helping themselves to food. And a _lot_ of it.

The woman’s frame was deceptively diminutive, and her left eye white and blinded. There was an oddly mousy appearance to her. Black robes swathed her body, and a white cornette sat perched delicately upon her head. Yet, despite her size, I was sure the amount of food she was devouring could feed an entire regiment. Servants hovered about her, trays at the ready, clearly intent on keeping her from clearing out the entire table around her.

The other who sat beside her was even more eye-catching. Heavy silver gauntlets encased their hands — an odd clothing choice for a refined dinner. Their features were accented with heavy white and red makeup, and they wore a double-horned escoffion in a rich ruby color. The sharpened tips of their gauntlets drummed impatiently on the table, almost claw-like.

Beside them, two empty seats sat vacant. Nadia gestured with a graceful hand towards the two figures.

“This is Pontifex Vulgora and Procurator Volta. Volta is in charge of the city’s food distribution, while Vulgora oversees the city’s defences.”

The two did not seem interested in Phoenix, though he gave them a friendly wave from where he sat. Pontifex Vulgora barely acknowledged his presence, and Procurator Volta didn’t even bother looking up from her seemingly never-ending feast.

“It seems that two of my courtiers are missing today despite my specific request for their attendance. Would you two happen to know their whereabouts?” 

The small woman finally paused in between bites. Her single brown eye found the Countess.

“Oh, dear Countess, Volta informed them both as requested, but it seems they’ve chosen not to attend this very lovely banquet!” The woman wrung her hands in a nervous fashion.

“Of course.” Nadia’s gaze remained steady, though behind her eyes I thought I caught a hint of fire. 

“It is a pity though — I’d hoped to introduce them,” she continued, a smile of fixed professional grace on her face. 

“My courtiers have kept my kingdom kept running in my absence and have been kind enough to ensure it continues to run smoothly even now that I have awoken.” Her words were praising, but her tone held a slight stiffness to it that betrayed her true feelings. It seemed that the Countess’s court was somewhat at odds with her style of ruling.

I was never much for politics, though, and found my mind impatiently wandering to the decadent food again as she continued to speak.

“These are the main staff of my palace,” she said, giving an indication to the rest of the guests situated at the table. “They are the people you’ll run into on your day to day while conducting the investigation.”

As her eyes swept the table, she made eye contact with me. She paused, holding my gaze for just a second and I realized, somewhere deep down, that I was supposed to be some sort of secret. I quickly dropped my eyes, trying not to look too suspicious as the meal finally began. It was delicious beyond words, but as I ate, I found myself unexpectedly distracted by members of Nadia’s court.

The first thing that caught my attention, in between nibbling on a tart, was Valerius. He was busily critiquing a servant, lecturing on which wines paired appropriately with each dish. At first, I eavesdropped simply because the jargon he was spouting was too ridiculous _not_ to listen to. I had no idea what the _terroir_ of a wine had to do with the honeyed roast on the table, but the way he was ranting on about it, you’d have thought a war crime had been committed.

But oddly enough, he wasn’t actually eating anything. While his glass was continuously refilled, his plate remained bare, and his wine noticeably unaccompanied by any sort of dish.

Judging by the way his knuckles were turning white as they grasped around his glass, he seemed like a man on the edge. I had a feeling that it wasn’t just inappropriate wine pairings that were bothering him tonight.

My sight flickered over to Vulgora, who was casually skewering crab puffs with the talons of their gauntlets in a way that made me shudder. I hastily averted my eyes and decided to focus on the food on my plate instead.

Towards the end of the meal, Portia set down a small, unidentifiable bowl of something that looked akin to porridge. I sent her a quizzical look.

“It’s payasam,” she explained. “It’s a Prakran dessert — Nadia instructed the cooks in how to make it a few months ago, and now, well, the whole palace is addicted!” I took a small bite. Flavors of cream, cardamom, and saffron melted in my mouth.

A tall, pale-skinned man entered the room just then, leisurely taking a seat in one of the vacant chairs. He seemed absolutely unruffled about being late.

“Ugh, now I suppose I have to go all the way back to the kitchens and fetch _him_ a bowl,” Portia muttered underneath her breath.

“Who is that?” I asked curiously.

“Oh, that’s Praetor Vlastomil. I can’t believe he showed up late like this again! He’s always having some sort of ‘worm emergency’.” Portia rolled her eyes.

Worm emergency…? _Maybe he’s really into gardening_ , I speculated.

When dinner was concluded, Portia made her way back over to Nadia, a bright smile on her face. Nadia said some quiet words to Portia, who nodded her head in understanding. Nadia then made a friendly gesture to Phoenix, who quickly stood up.

It was then that Nadia rose. With grace, she made her way to me, placing a hand on my back. I glanced up at her as she spoke quietly.

“If you would be so kind, Finch, I would appreciate you coming with me. You and I must talk alone.”

I nodded my head, rising to my feet. I followed her out, taking one last glance at the dining room before I left. I felt a slight shiver go down my spine as I saw that though dinner had ended, Volta had still not stopped eating.

I followed Nadia down a hallway and to a small side room. She opened the door and I followed in closely behind her. She shut it swiftly behind me and locked it.

The room itself appeared to be some sort of sitting room for entertaining guests. Velvet chairs were gathered about a small table, and a painting depicting a violet-blue starry expanse hung on the wall across from us. I took a seat in one of the chairs, looking to Nadia as I waited for her to do the same. She stared at me for half a second before taking a seat across from me. The rain reverberated loudly on the window in absence of conversation.

“So... you’re the one who sent that letter,” I said hesitantly, feeling like a mouse caught in the gaze of an owl.

Nadia nodded her head, her red eyes clearly appraising me. I didn’t flinch — it was intimidating, but I’d worked with plenty of discerning and wealthy customers before.

“I appreciate your discretion at dinner. I admit, I’ve brought you here for reasons that I would prefer to keep private.”

I nodded my head, before commenting, “Your head servant doesn’t seem to be such a fan of discretion.” Nadia looked at me, her eyes widening in slight surprise before a faint smile curved up her lips.

“Ah, yes, Portia. She is ever one for secrets. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the work that I’ve called you here for, I didn’t feel comfortable telling even her.”

Nadia’s fingers thrummed against the sofa she lounged on and I leaned forward. _Finally,_ I thought. _The moment that I find out the mysterious reason I’ve been summoned all the way to Vesuvia._

“You are here for… security reasons, we shall say.” 

I tried to hide the slight disappointment on my face. I had to admit, this was a bit of a let down. Since discovering I’d been summoned to the Vesuvian Palace, I’d been secretly hoping that my work would be something complex and grand, like configuring charms for a secret underwater maze.

“Of course. Is there a particular enchantment you wanted applied to the locks, or—” I said, straightening out my tunic as I glanced at her. She shook her head, fingers still tapping.

“It’s… a bit more complex than that,” she paused, clearly considering her words. “You are aware, no doubt, of the affliction that I have recently recovered from?” I nodded my head slowly, reminded of the mysterious coma Portia had mentioned in the carriage.

“When I awoke, I found that many things had changed, and many more problems had gone unsolved.” I nodded my head silently, unsure of where she was going with these pieces of information.

“This palace… when you entered it, how did you feel?” She stared at me intently, and I could tell this was some sort of test. I gave an uncertain shrug and looked about.

“Well, I found all the goat-themed decor a little disconcerting,” I replied honestly. She frowned, and I knew at once that this was not the answer she’d been looking for.

“But… now that you mention it, there was a strange feeling to the air when I entered.” Then, it clicked and I nearly laughed. _Nearly._

“Look, correct me if I’m wrong,” I said cautiously, folding my hands in my lap and returning her stare. “But this problem you have… would it happen to be of a, well… _supernatural_ nature?”

Nadia’s mouth was in a thin line, but with a sigh, she relented and gave a nod.

I didn’t believe in the supernatural, or at least, not beyond what had already been firmly established by others before me. Of course I believed in all the ordinary magical creatures that clearly existed; unicorns, fireplace salamanders, and what-have-you.

But entities like ghosts and demons…? I’d never seen evidence for such astonishing claims. If someone wanted to pay me to create wards to banish such otherworldly beings, however, I wasn’t exactly going to argue with them.

“Yes, I suppose that _is_ why you’re here. It’s partially why Phoenix is here as well, to be perfectly honest.” She pressed her fingers to her temples, and said with an exhalation of breath,

“Since I’ve awoken, I’ve been plagued by many difficulties… but three of which do need a light touch, and for those I’ve chosen both you and Phoenix to try to remedy them.” I listened quietly, knowing that my skeptical comments were not welcome at this time. Nadia organized herself, her back straightening as she began to talk.

“Firstly, I’ve been having nightmares. Horrible, vivid nightmares… and if they are coming from an outside source, I would like to do all that I can to keep them away from me. Phoenix will be working to try and help me find the source, but I’d appreciate your specialized skills in devising barriers.” I nodded my head.

Ghosts and demons aside, I couldn’t deny the possibility of someone magically tampering with dreams. And if there were ever a likely victim for such tampering, it would naturally be a member of royalty. It wasn’t an underwater maze, but the job was starting to pique my interest again.

“Secondly,” the Countess continued, and I noticed her cheeks growing ever so slightly pale.

“Well… this is hard to explain to someone who has just arrived, but there is something _wrong_ in the palace.” I looked at her, trying to figure out what she meant. When she didn’t elaborate I cleared my throat.

“So, is it just a strange energy, or…?” She shook her head.

“It’s more tangible than that. There are things going on in hidden corners, places out of my eyesight.” She flexed her fingers against the side of the chair, and for the first time I saw a sneaking look of unease somewhere in the back of her eyes. 

“The servants are always spinning tales, of course. But as of late, I cannot help but notice that there’s been more gravity to their claims. Even those who were not easily swayed by ghost stories are now reporting puzzling events.”

“Phoenix, the dear young man, is looking into the murder of my late husband, but I need someone else to simply _linger._ To observe any peculiar ongoings in the palace, and do so discreetly. There’s a reason I hired you, Finch, aside from your talents. You are from Hjalle — a stranger who holds no connection to Vesuvia.” 

“So, that’s why you didn’t introduce me at dinner.” 

Nadia inclined her head in agreement, though a dry smile was sneaking its way up her face.

“That, and the third reason.” I listened, and Nadia glanced towards the door sharply before looking back to me.

“It was my husband, the late Count Lucio, who appointed the courtiers in the first place. More specifically, he placed Pontifex Vulgora in charge of all security for the palace.” I thought back to the red-clad noble at the dining table with those sharp-tipped gauntlets, and uneasily wondered what sort of security they might’ve put in place.

“Now, my husband’s idea of keeping us safe was dumping hundreds of imported vampire eels into the surrounding moat, as well as insisting on some quite frankly _ridiculous_ design choices for the royal guards’ armor.” Her face was a mask of disapproval, and I got the distinct feeling that she and her late husband had not gotten along.

“So what about Pontifex Vulgora?” I asked, genuinely curious. “What sort of security measures do they use?”

Nadia irritably pulled at a strand of her tyrian hair. “When I asked them about security last time, I was informed that if any assassins tried to break in they would, and I quote, ‘pummel them till their bones were dust, and then rip out their heart.’”

“Charming,” I replied, fully believing that this was something the Pontifex would say.

“Needless to say, I do not feel safe,” Nadia said flatly, her brows furrowing. “However, there is little that can publicly be done.” I raised an eyebrow and I saw her face grow stony.

With what seemed to be a physical effort, she opened her mouth and said softly, “I’ve lost control of my kingdom. As it is now, I’m nothing but a puppet ruler.” I expected to see sadness in her eyes, but instead I saw a burning rage hidden deep in those red depths — an anger which I had no doubt took quite a long time to culminate.

“So, you want me to stealthily install security systems?” I asked tentatively.

“Yes, I do,” Nadia responded as she folded her hands in her lap. “And I would encourage you to be very sneaky. The courtiers are not keen on having their power wrested from them, least of all the Pontifex. If they catch you doing their job… well, there are many windows in the palace that face the moat.”

I was beginning to see why this job paid so much. Apparently, there was a very real threat to my life. Still, the sum of money that had been offered was far too much to turn down, and if I were being entirely honest, I was very, _very_ curious. Nadia was right — there was something wrong with this palace. I wasn’t fully sure what it might be, but I had an itch to figure out this mystery that had presented itself to me.

“So, to reiterate what you’ve said,” I began, wanting to make sure I’d fully understood.

“You need me to make barriers around the room where you sleep, install magical defenses throughout the palace in case of unwanted visitors, and while I’m at it, keep my ear to the ground for anything you might have missed during your absence?” She nodded her head, long hair flowing out behind her as she pursed her red lips.

“And don’t get killed in the process, yes.” 

I exhaled, realizing just how big of a job I’d signed myself up for.

“Okay.”

I stood up, offering out my hand to Nadia. She stood as well, but she didn’t reach for it.

“There is one other matter,” she said. My hand remained in the air as my mind grew frozen with indecision about whether to set it down or leave it up.

“If you do find anything unusual, report it directly to Phoenix. Or, if it proves to be a more pressing matter, to me.”

“I understand,” I replied solemnly. Nadia smiled and took my hand, shaking it with a rather firm grip. She then turned and silently made her way to the door.

“I’ll send for my head servant Portia so that she can gave you a more complete tour of the palace tomorrow, but for this evening she’ll help you back to your room, this way—”

She was cut off as she pulled open the door with a jerk, and a mess of red hair and flushed cheeks tumbled through with a yelp. Portia pushed herself up, looking embarrassed and red in the face.

“My lady! I’m so sorry,” she fumbled as Nadia looked at her with alarm, but more than a little amusement.

“Portia, how did you know I needed you?” There was a teasing quality to her voice.

Portia laughed in a slightly nervous tone, standing up and brushing herself off. Nadia turned back to me. 

“Well, I suppose that means I won’t have to explain why you’re here again, Finch… as I’ll assume you’ve been outside the door this entire time, Portia.” She turned back to her servant who looked shamefaced.

“I’m sorry.” Portia mumbled as Nadia rested a hand on her head. 

“Although, you shouldn’t be spying on me. I was going to tell you regardless.”

A slight smile appeared on the freckled cheeks as Portia looked up, and for a second, the two women were caught in a moment that felt somewhat intimate.

I coughed and awkwardly turned my head away, feeling as though I was witnessing something private. Nadia straightened, beckoning me forward.

“Well, Finch, I look forward to seeing your work.” 

I smiled, glad that the awkwardness was over and hastily moved to the door. It had been a long day, and I was eager to get a good night’s rest. After all, it sounded like I had plenty of long days in my near future. I pondered on Nadia’s words in a tired haze as Portia carefully guided me through the dark halls, taking me back to my room.


	3. A Noise in the Dark

Crouched on the floor, I gingerly unfastened the lock in front of me, peering into its inner workings. I procured a vial of willow sap from my case, dabbing it carefully into the mechanisms with an exceedingly small paintbrush. Next came a few strokes of mountain nettle, and then a dash of powdered coralroot.

To the average passerby, it probably looked like I was jamming random herbs into the palace locks. And honestly, if the Pontifex did happen to stumble upon me as I worked, I wouldn’t have minded if that’s exactly what they assumed.

If someone looked very closely into the inside of the locks themselves, however, they’d be able to detect a few incredibly tiny and delicately painted glyphs.

_And now, the final component_ … I reached into my case for a sprig of agrimony.

And found nothing.

Dubiously, I stared down into a clear glass jar that was without a single doubt, agrimony-free.

I cursed a little under my breath. I’d come prepared with a large assortment of ingredients, but hadn’t anticipated the exact nature of this job or the materials it would require.

Most of the time, my line of work was pretty straightforward: a patron would tell me exactly what protections they wanted, and where they wanted them. Then, I’d be left to my own devices. And usually, I’d be using the same predictable variety of ingredients.

So I’d been surprised when Nadia had instead guided me over to a desk with a gold lock sitting on top of it, already disassembled with its inner components exposed. Apparently, the Countess had quite the penchant for mechanical puzzles.

As it turned out, she’d actually designed the lock herself — practice for a grander project, she told me with a wink, and suggested I look at the door of the palace library sometime. She had ideas for how to incorporate spells into the locks, but very little knowledge of how the magic actually worked.

Normally I would’ve protested a patron getting involved — usually, this meant some nosy person leaning over my work, assuming they somehow knew more about magic than me, and being a general nuisance. But I had to admit that Nadia actually held a lot of useful knowledge of mechanics, and she seemed to know better than to pry into the complex magical components.

We worked together on configuring the lock for about an hour. The charm we settled on was a variation of the tamper-free lock spell that was frequent in my work.

Generally, the most popular choice with customers was a spell that scorched your hand when you tampered with the lock. The burn itself wasn’t actually too painful — more like a mild sunburn. Even so, the merchants in the markets of Hjalle couldn’t get enough of it.

Nadia, however, wanted something a little different — we weren’t in a rowdy street market, after all. In the vicinity of the Vesuvian Palace, a charm that could harmlessly subdue a criminal was preferred.

The charm I ended up constructing had two components. Firstly, if anyone attempted to pick one of the locks, a thin cord of magic would shoot out, entwining around the would-be-asssasin’s wrist.

The second component was a sleeping spell, and was triggered promptly after the first one. We couldn’t allow the possibility of the assassin escaping, after all.

If anyone was found sleeping peacefully on the floor with one hand dangling from a door handle, we’d know we’d found a potential culprit. I had to admit, I felt somewhat proud of the combination of spells.

I straightened, stretching out my arms. With a sigh I rubbed my back, which was starting to ache from bending over so much. It was just as well that I’d run out of agrimony, I supposed. I’d been enchanting locks since early this morning, and it was now well into late afternoon. I needed a break.

Slipping my tools back into the case, I turned and began to make my way down the hall, my mind buzzing with thought.

It’d been three days since I’d started working here, and it seemed the longer I stayed, the odder the palace seemed to become.

After designing the lock charm with Nadia, I was left to wander mostly in peace. Even Portia, who’d been so interested in Nadia’s hiring of me, seemed to be distracted by Phoenix as he conducted his mysterious detective work. Most of the attention seemed to be on him, which made sense. So far, he seemed charming, laid back, and rather well adjusted.

Admittedly, they were all traits that put me on edge — I’d never been an especially social sort of person.

The servants paid little attention to me as I did my work. When Nadia had asked me what sort of clothes I desired to wear about her palace, I’d simply asked for a servant’s uniform. She’d seemed a bit disappointed, and I got the impression that she’d rather I’d requested colorful silks and jewels. She saw my point, however — a servant’s outfit would keep my presence relatively secret.

And so far, it’d worked like a charm. Aside from Portia, everyone was ignoring me.

Although… I did find it somewhat worrisome that no one in the palace seemed to take issue with a servant cramming weird ingredients into locks.

I turned a corner, planning on making my way back to my living quarters — and found myself unexpectedly in a hallway I didn’t recognize.

I glanced back and realized with a frustrated sigh that I was once again lost. I still wasn’t used to the immensity of the palace, and getting lost was becoming an annoyingly frequent part of my day.

On the bright side, the Vesuvian Palace had no lack of distinctive landmarks. Between various fountains, friezes, and weird goat statues, I was usually able to reorient myself by simply walking around for a while.

I proceeded ahead, and saw that the wall ahead of me was lined with oil paintings. As I walked closer, I realized they were all portraits of various albino animals. I was definitely going in the wrong direction, but found myself spellbound by the odd images.

On the first canvas was a ruby-eyed lynx sprawled on a mound of satin, its claws outstretched and prickling at the soft fabric. Another painting illustrated a flock of ghostly white peacocks perched together in a tree. Their red eyes glittered in the gloom of the hallway, seeming to follow me as I paced around. I passed by a gyrfalcon, a cobra, a pair of hunting dogs — all pale and strange versions of each animal.

Then on the wall behind me, I noticed an albino animal painting that wasn’t quite like the rest. This one depicted a mythical, goat-like being adorned in royal clothing. Symbols of wealth surrounded it — baskets of oranges and pomegranates were laid across a table, and brocades of gold cloth and rich furs spilled over a throne and onto the floor.

I had a sudden moment of recognition — I’d seen this mythical goat before when I’d attended Nadia’s dinner engagement. I’d been a little too preoccupied with eavesdropping on Consul Valerius at the time, but now I couldn't take my eyes off the being.

_Maybe it’s a patron god of the city? Or maybe it’s some Vesuvian piece of mythology?_

Lost in thought and fascinated with the strange painting, I became abruptly distracted by the sound of pounding footsteps on the marble floor behind me. I turned my head around just in time to see a figure sprinting past me, running at full tilt as if the devil himself were right on their heels.

They wore the same white-and-gold garb as me, and as they turned a corner, I saw that they were clutching one arm tight to their chest. It was a puzzling sight, but probably none of my business. I was about to turn away when I saw something wet gleaming against the floor tiles.

My throat seized up as I stared at the trail of blood that splattered out where the servant had just run across the floor. I looked around helplessly, hoping there was someone else in the vicinity — someone who would know what to do.

My search was in vain, and I felt a knot of anxiety bunch up in my stomach. I was the only one in this section of the palace — the only one who could help.

The servant was surprisingly easy to find. If the splatter of blood weren’t enough, any loud sounds in the marble halls were amplified by echoes, making it obvious which direction the servant had run in.

As I came nearer and nearer, I felt the back of my neck prickling with sweat.

Finally, the blood trail came to an end. I found myself standing in front of the wooden door of a closet, and from inside, I could hear the muffled sounds of pained breaths. I walked forward, skirting the blood as I approached the door and taking in a deep breath. With a sharp rap, I brought my fist down on the wood.

“Hello? Is everything okay in there?”

A squeak of a voice answered me, frightened and breathless.

“Yes, I’m fine, go away!” 

I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance.

“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding. Please open the door. I just want to help you.” There was a long pause, and I gave an annoyed yank on the handle. To my surprise, the door swung open easily. As I peered inside, the figure inside cringed back, a mop clutched in their hands as though they intended to defend themselves with it.

It appeared to be a dark-haired man. His face was flushed and ruddy. What immediately caught my attention, however, was the wound on his right arm. I felt my stomach turn as I looked at it.

One of the man’s sleeves had been completely shredded, and was now hanging by a scrap of fabric. The wound itself was a long set of deep puncture marks that were oozing dark blood. Some of his skin had been stripped from the flesh of his arm, and was dangling freely.

He seemed to relax slightly as he saw me, the mop lowering slightly in his hand as he stared at me.

“Oh… you’re just a servant…” he exhaled with a sigh, relief washing across his face.

“You’re, uh, one of the new recruits, right? For the upcoming masquerade?” I nodded my head, deciding now was not the best time to chat about the specifics of my career.

“Take off your shirt, I need something to wrap that injury with,” I advised as I stepped into the cramped closet. I was no expert in first aid, but it didn't seem wise to keep the injury exposed.

“SHUT THE DOOR!” he yelped. I blinked, surprised by the ferocity behind his words, but did as he said. Darkness immediately surrounded the two of us. Inside the tiny space, it smelled of lemon oil and stale dusty air.

“How am I supposed to help you like this?” I pointed out, reaching to open the door again.

“Don’t!” he protested. I sighed and nudged the door so that only a knife-thin sliver of light entered the closet.

“Is this a good compromise?”

He didn’t look particularly happy, but begrudgingly nodded his head, still shaking as though overcome with some sort of fever. I approached him, the scent of blood and cleaning supplies hanging heavily about him as I cautiously worked off his shirt.

“How did this happen?” 

He looked towards the door, shaking his head as he swallowed.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

Admittedly, when someone told me that, they were usually absolutely right. I was brimming with curiosity, though, so as I carefully wrapped his shirt around his wounded arm, I continued to prod.

“Well, maybe I’ll believe you, maybe not. I’d have to hear what you have to say.” I met his terrified eyes, which were flicking back and forth. He did not respond, and I let out a sigh.

“Well, unless there’s something dangerous out there, I think it’s time we get you to an infirmary…”

“No,” he hissed, eyes darting to the crack in the door. I stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

“No?”

He shook his head, staring down at the shirt which was slowly staining the color of dark red. I settled myself beside him, staring at him intently.

“Then how about you tell me what happened?” At this point, it was clear I wasn’t getting anywhere with this man till he settled a bit. I figured that if he told his story it might allow him time to calm down.

“Okay, yes, yes…” he agreed, before trailing off and looking lost as to where he should begin.

“You could start with your name.” I offered.

He took in a deep breath before exhaling.

“Micah. My name’s Micah. I’m part of the cleaning crew.”

“So Micah… what happened to your arm?” He stared down at it again, before looking up towards me, tears in the corners of his eyes. 

“Well… I was taking a break. I’d finished cleaning up the main hall and, uh… decided to slip off for a little bit.” He rubbed at his arm, his face growing a bit red.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t. It just leaves more work for my coworkers. But there’s just been so much pressure lately, what with a potential masquerade coming up soon and everything! So I slipped off into one of the secret tunnels, and—”

He paused speaking for a second, presumably because I made a visibly baffled face at the words ‘secret tunnels’.

“Wait. I know you’re new here, but… has no one told you about the secret tunnels yet?” I shook my head at him, and he surprised me by bursting into a short string of laughter.

“Ohhhh, you’re definitely being pranked by the other servants. Tell me, have you noticed that when you have to travel to the other side of the palace, all the other servants are somehow already there, even though you had to run just to make it in time?”

I tentatively nodded my head, still trying to play along with the idea that I was definitely a new hire. Micah laughed again, taking my confused expression as affirmation that I’d been thoroughly pranked.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to be the first to tell you. The Vesuvian Palace is absolutely full of magical passageways. No idea why. There’s a few that all the servants know about, and we use them all the time. They’re incredibly useful shortcuts.”

“But then… there’s a lot of passageways that aren’t really in use. Some of them just aren’t helpful, and I’m sure there’s loads of them that no one’s even discovered yet. You’ve met the head servant, Portia, right? She’s got a whole map of them! I guess she does a lot of exploring in her spare time.”

Talking about the passageways seemed to have opened Micah up, but I needed to redirect the conversation back to what had happened to him.

“So… someone attacked you in one of the secret tunnels?”

“Some _thing_ ,” he muttered mysteriously.

“And yes, something did. And as far as I know, nobody else knew about the passageway I was using to take a break. That’s the thing about them — you have to know where they are, because there’s no outside indications. I found this one by accidentally leaning on one of the walls one day.”

He took in an inhale, and I saw his face scrunch up as he clutched at his arm. I waited, giving him time to find his voice. At the same time, a small voice inside of me whispered that I should likely be finding him medical attention.

“So, ever since I found it, I’ve been using it to take breaks. Just every now and then. Normally, it’s nice and quiet in there… but today, it was different. I was leaning against the wall when I first heard it — the movement in the darkness.”

I stared at him, feeling a shiver run down my spine even as the rational part of my mind assured me what he had heard was almost certainly rats.

“I don’t know where the tunnel leads,” Micah said, his eyes fixed on the sliver of light. “I’ve never bothered to follow it. It’s dark, and when you walk more than a few feet in, it’s full of cobwebs.”

“So when I first heard the noise, I just thought it was another servant and I was a bit disappointed. I mean, I thought I was the only person who knew where this tunnel was... but it makes sense someone else would eventually find it, right? I mean, the tunnel has to lead somewhere, and I figured that my little secret was finally out. I stayed quiet as they approached.”

His face scrunched slightly, as though trying to draw forth a memory lodged deep in his mind.

“The footsteps were… very light. Just a soft pattering, coming at me from somewhere in the dark. It took me a second to understand why this was weird, but as they came closer and closer, I became aware of the fact that they had no source of light. No lantern or candle. Someone was just walking in the dark, all by themselves.” Sweat glistened on his brow as I leaned in, curious to hear more.

“I was perfectly silent, so I have no idea how it knew I was there. I just stayed still, pressed against the cold stone as I waited for whoever it was to pass. They didn’t, though. I heard the footsteps come to a stop in the dark, and then I heard the weirdest of noises. It was as though something was sniffing at the air, very loudly.” His face was ashen as he spoke, hands twitching as he clutched his injured arm closer to him.

“So, I called out to them, you know? I had no idea who they were, but I had this stupid idea that if I didn’t call out to them, I might scare them.”

He took in a sharp intake of breath as he sat there, before continuing in a deadly quiet voice.

“After that, they went silent for several seconds, and for a second I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. That was before… it… came at me.” He was shaking now, tears leaking a little from the corners of his eyes. He clutched at his shoulder.

“I didn’t see it for long, just a second before it latched onto my arm. There were so many teeth! I didn’t move fast enough, and it bit me, hard. I thought I was about to be dead — it was so strong. So intent to drag me back into that tunnel and devour me… but I somehow got free and I ran.”

“And that’s when I saw you.”

He took in a deep breath, and I was just about to voice my thoughts on his story when he continued on, his voice dropping to a half whisper.

“You know where we are, right...? This section of the palace — we're right next to the previous Count's wing. If you ask any authorities, or any of the nobles, they’ll tell you that the wing’s abandoned because we servants can’t bear to enter it after the murder. That we’ve left it untouched in honor of our dearly departed Count Lucio.”

“But that’s an utter lie. Ask any servant, and they’ll tell you — Count Lucio was a horrible man. No one wants to go into his wing because of the rumors that it’s somehow cursed. Some people say that his ghost haunts the halls, still seeking out his murderer. Some others say they’ve seen a monster.”

“I didn’t believe any of it before — only that Count Lucio’s wing was really creepy. But now, after what just happened to me? My bet’s on the monster.”

I stared at him for a moment before I tactically cleared my throat.

“…Could’ve it been one of the dogs?”

There were two massive, lanky hunting dogs that I’d seen during my time here at the castle. At first, I’d thought they belonged to Phoenix, because wherever he went, the dogs seemed to be following close.

They were also very aggressive. I knew this from firsthand experience — two days ago I’d reached out to pet one under the assumption they were some sort of palace pet. Before I could lay a hand on that silky white fur, the dog had turned around, teeth bared and making a snap for my hand.

He stared at me in disbelief, and his face had a hint of betrayal on it.

“The dogs?” he replied blankly.

“Yes, the dogs,” I said, trying to sound helpful. “The big white ones.” His expression did not change.

“You mean _Count Lucio’s_ dogs?” Now it was my turn to feel surprised, and I suddenly felt a small ounce of pity for the creatures. I supposed if their master was gone, I had a bit more sympathy for their plight. To lose the person they liked and trusted would likely have damaged them both emotionally.

“I wasn’t bitten by a dog!” He sounded furious, and I frowned at him.

“Are you sure?” I questioned.

“Yes!” His voice was full of anger, which I really felt was unnecessary, and did nothing to prove his point.

“It was dark, and you mentioned it found you by sniffing at the air,” I pointed out, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. I heard him suck in an angry breath, but before he had even a second to say anything, the sound of something outside our closet caught my attention.

There was someone walking at a brisk pace down the hall. I could hear their shoes clicking on the marble, echoing out into the empty space. I saw Micah stiffen beside me, but I didn’t share his fear. I stepped towards the door, and he grabbed at me.

“No, don’t open it!”

I hesitated, and then there was a soft knock on the other side. I glanced back at him, catching him shaking his head, his face going pale. I ignored him and reached forward, pulling open the closet door and finding myself face to face with someone I’d seen before in the palace.

They leaned forward, standing several inches taller than me as they surveyed me with piercing red eyes. I had never officially met them, but they were unmistakable — my eyes traveled up a white-uniformed figure with layered bandages framing their face.

“Quaestor Valdemar,” I said, greeting them with an incline of my head. They didn’t seem surprised I knew their name, instead attempting to peer around me. Their expression made me uneasy. There wasn’t any obvious malice, just a peculiar and intense curiosity.

“There is a trail of blood that leads here, but you are not bleeding,” they stated very matter-of-factly. Their voice was chilly, and held a light accent I couldn’t identify. I glanced back to see that Micah had gotten to his feet. He no longer looked terrified, but there was an unnerved expression on his face as he seemed to track the Quaestor’s movements. It seemed he did not trust them.

“Yes, I believe Micah here had a run in with one of Count Lucio’s dogs. It tore up his arm rather badly.” I could feel Micah glaring at the back of my neck, but I hardly cared. As far as I was concerned, the man had suffered from an animal attack and wasn’t in the right frame of mind to process what he’d really seen. He needed medical attention, not someone to validate his monster story.

“Oh, dear. Well, that won’t do.” Valdemar reached over, pulling the door open more fully as they stared inside. Their eyes found Micah quickly, lingering on the bloody shirt wrapped about his arm.

“He’ll have to come along with me. After all, I am the palace’s Head Physician.”

I stared at them, tilting my head to the side. That did explain why they’d smelled so strongly of sterilizing chemicals when I’d first seen them the other day. I turned to Micah, jerking my hand towards Valdemar.

“Er, they say they can take care of you…” Micah stared between me and Valdemar, clearly disconcerted.

“Oh, uh… well…” he stammered nervously.

“Hurry it up please, I am very busy.” Valdemar cut through his words, one gloved hand extending and beckoning the man forward. “I really don’t have time to be cleaning up other people’s messes.”

Their phrasing was decidedly odd. It bothered me, but I decided I was just being paranoid as I stepped out of the closet, allowing Micah to stagger forward, standing in front of Valdemar with an unsettled look on his face.

“Oh… okay,” he said hesitantly, cradling his arm to his chest. With a sigh, I felt relief as the burden of duty was removed from me, and I gave him a friendly nod.

“Take care of yourself,” I said, turning to walk away. But before I got the chance to make my exit, I was caught aback by that cold voice.

“What’s your name?”

I paused, looking back towards Valdemar. For the first time since they arrived, they seemed to be looking at me fully. Their red eyes were searching, as though trying to place me.

“Finch. I’m, uh, a new servant here.” Valdemar held my gaze a second longer before looking away with a sudden twist of their head.

“Come along,” they instructed, beckoning Micah to follow them. He did, giving me an uneasy glance. I watched the two of them go, and for a second I felt the strangest impulse to grab Micah by the arm and drag him away from the Quaestor.

Of course, I didn’t take any such action. I simply watched them leave before turning and started the long trip back, following Micah’s blood. I wasn’t totally conscious of what I was doing until the winding trail led me to a solid wall framed by a stone arch. A large red stain pooled on the ground beside it.

Hesitantly, I held out my hand, pressing it out towards the bricks. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when I felt it go straight through. My hand disappeared into solid stone, and the sensation was like plunging my arm into a thick, almost viscous fog. A coolness tingled at my fingertips.

And then, with no warning, my hand made contact with something warm and alive on the other side. I yelped, pulling my hand back. For a brief moment, I nearly expected to see the monster that Micah described lunging out from behind those bricks.

Instead, to my immense surprise, Portia popped her head out, her face slightly tinged with red.

“Finch! Oh, hi!” I stared at her for a bewildered moment.

“So… there’s apparently secret tunnels everyone here knows about? That wasn’t included on your tour.” 

Portia grinned and stepped into the hallway, materializing from the wall.

“Sorry, I completely forgot!” If it was anyone else, I’d suspect them of lying, but Portia’s earnest nature came across as totally genuine.

“So, how’re the locks going?” she asked conversationally.

Suddenly, my plight from earlier that day sprang to mind.

“Well, since you’re here, I did have a question,” I said, wondering if Portia was aware she was stepping in a puddle of blood. Portia smiled and stepped forward, clearly eager to help.

“Sure! What do you need?”

“There’s a few materials I require for my work… I sort of ran out of an ingredient this morning. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone in Vesuvia who sells magical ingredients, do you?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by an unexpected voice behind her.

“You could talk to my teacher.”

My gaze snapped up just in time to see Phoenix emerging from the wall. An orb of light hovered above his hand, brightening the hall like sunlight itself. Oddly enough, there were leaves and twigs tangled in his hair. 

I peered over his shoulder, as if staring at the wall again would somehow reveal its nature.

“Where does that tunnel go?” I asked wonderingly. Phoenix grinned at me.

“Somewhere in the middle of the hedge maze, believe it or not. We got lost in there, but then Portia recognized one of the passageway entrances and… well, here we are!”

Well, a hedge maze on a warm summer’s day didn’t exactly seem like the origin of a bloodthirsty monster.

Now Phoenix turned and smiled at me, offering a hand.

“I’m Phoenix, by the way. We haven’t really been introduced yet, but I’m Asra’s apprentice. You said you’re looking for a magician here, right? You should talk to him! He’s the best in the city.” I took his hand, which was warm in comparison to mine.

“I’ll be sure to do so,” I replied honestly.

Before I continued on my way, I glanced back.

“You know, you two should be careful. Someone got attacked by some sort of animal in those tunnels earlier.” I indicated down to the small pool of blood they had both just walked over. The two looked down, and the color drained from their faces. Portia staggered back, and Phoenix seemed frozen.

“Oh no! What happened?” she asked, looking to me. I considered repeating Micah’s testimony — no doubt the young woman would get a kick out of a ghost story— but decided against it.

“I think a servant accidentally spooked one of those white hunting dogs, and got a bad bite. Don’t worry, though. He’s getting medical attention.” As the two of them stared down at the trail of blood, I quickly made my exit.

The whole experience hadn’t been a total waste, I supposed. After all, finding a source of magical ingredients in an unfamiliar city could’ve proven to be a challenge. And aside from that, the magic passageways did seem like a major component to consider in the realm of palace security.

I made a mental note to corner Portia when she was alone and ask her about them.

Still, as I dismissed the events of the afternoon from my mind, a certain phrase was stuck in my head no matter how hard I tried to shake it.

_I don’t have time to clean up other people’s messes._

As I walked forward, forming plans for tomorrow to track down this elusive Asra, those words circled again and again in my head as I tried to puzzle out why they caused a chill to run down my spine.


	4. Serpent & Pestle

For the last time that morning, I checked my list. Agrimony had been the first ingredient written down, and then I’d speculated as to what else I might need. Nadia had implied that she wanted wards against supernatural activity, and I still planned on constructing them — however unlikely I found that particular danger to be.

But in addition to wards against demons and malevolent spirits, I wanted to design some wards that were a little more tangible. Wards that could disarm any evil-intentioned spells, for instance.

I sighed as I walked out the door of my living quarters, tucking the parchment into my robe and rubbing at my eyes. I hadn't slept well — images of the servant’s punctured arm seeping warm, sticky blood had lingered in the back of my mind. I pushed the thoughts away, forcing my mind to focus on my task at hand: finding the shop of a mysterious magician.

_Maybe there’ll be a coffee seller in the marketplace_ , I thought optimistically.

As expansive as the Vesuvian Palace was, I’d been hoping for an excuse to explore the city’s other districts. And as annoying as it was to run out of an ingredient in the midst of enchanting, I was glad to have a reason to step outside the palace for a day.

But first, I had another mission — I needed to find Phoenix and ask him a few questions. When Portia had brought me breakfast a few minutes earlier, she’d told me that she’d last seen him around the dining rooms. And so, I headed over.

As I passed by a sort of cozy breakfast nook, I heard a sound that made me pause in the hall — a soft sniffle, muffled as though through fabric. Hesitantly, I peered back through the threshold to see…

Procurator Volta?

There was a little pile of scones in her lap, and her eyes were puffy and red as if she had just been recovering from a bout of crying. Her diminutive figure looked even tinier in comparison to the massive armchair on which she was neatly curled up. As I watched, she let out another small sniffle.

Instantly, I felt a hot wave of guilt rush over me. I was acutely aware of how impolite it was to spy on someone during a private moment, made worse by the fact that I definitely couldn’t go over and console her. Aside from the fact that I was a “servant” at the moment and risked serious offense, I was also notoriously awful at comforting people. Knowing my skills, the Procurator would probably go back to outright sobbing.

And so, I shamefully slipped away.

Portia’s hazy approximation of Phoenix’s whereabouts turned out to be quite accurate.

When I passed by a closed door and heard warm laughter from within the room, I immediately knew Phoenix was inside. There were two voices, both of them carrying pleasant rings as the sound of a friendly conversation carried through the stately oaken door.

I knocked sharply, and when I heard the commanding voice of Nadia inviting me inside, I was quick to step in.

She and Phoenix were sipping at cups of fragrant tea at a small table. They both had playful smiles on their faces, as though they’d been sharing a private joke when I’d arrived.

“Finch, I trust you have good news?” Nadia said, a smile playing at her regal features. I inclined my head, still fairly intimidated by her and a little embarrassed to interrupt her conversation.

“Yes — I’m making steady progress with the locks… and so far, Pontifex Vulgora hasn’t taken any notice of the new security measures.” Truthfully, I’d scarcely seen them since that dinner event. Even so, ever since Nadia had warned me of them, I’d made absolutely sure that I was well out of their range. As I’d been working on the locks, I kept having visions of one of those claw-tipped gauntlets skewering through my flesh.

“Ah, excellent. That is indeed a relief to hear. Was there perhaps another reason for your visit, or was that all?”

“Actually, yes, I did have another reason... Can I borrow Phoenix for a moment?”

“Very well — I suppose we’d just about wrapped up our conversation,” Nadia said with a sigh, casting a slightly disappointed smile towards Phoenix.

Phoenix gave a cheerful wave of goodbye, but there was a somewhat nervous look about him, and then a hint of relief on his face as he stepped towards me.

I couldn’t say I blamed him. The Countess was undeniably a bit… formidable. Even if she _did_ seem strangely charmed by him.

“I’ll keep you updated on the investigation, Countess!”

Nadia let out a slight laugh and shook her head.

“Please, Phoenix. My name is Nadia.” Phoenix’s smile was a little shy as he joined me in the hall, looking at me with a curious gleam in his eye.

“How can I help you?” he asked, sounding genuinely excited by the prospect.

“You can write incantations, right?” He stared at me for a brief second before laughing.

“Well, of course! I think that’s one of the first things I learned as a magician.” I nodded my head, fishing in my pocket for a list. Despite his laugh, it was a weight off my shoulders to hear that he had some actual training in magic. I’d been genuinely concerned that all he knew was card reading and parlor tricks.

Although… even if he was proficient in magic, I still hadn’t figured why exactly the Countess had appointed a seemingly random magician as lead investigator for her husband’s murder.

“Excellent. If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll need you to make me a few. Also, I was planning on visiting that magician you recommended… Asra, right? Do you know if he’d have these ingredients?”

I handed him the list as Nadia walked past us both, giving us a small smile as she did. Phoenix briefly looked down at the list, before glancing at me.

“Oh, yes, we’ve definitely got all those ingredients at the shop.” He furrowed his brow for a moment.

“Well, except _maybe_ the powdered fluorspar. But I’d be surprised if my master didn’t have it in stock somewhere.”

There was a lull in the conversation as my tired mind processed what he’d said.

“Your master?” I asked, wondering if I was about to learn more about Phoenix then I ever needed to know. Phoenix nodded his head eagerly.

“Asra’s been teaching me all he knows for the last few years. He knows quite a bit, and he travels all over the place, so we have a lot of unusual ingredients you won’t find anywhere else.”

“That’s a relief to hear — I might need unusual ingredients at some point. One more question, though — where exactly _is_ your master’s shop?”

My travel book had included a map of the city, but as I’d discovered last night when I tried to consult it for directions, it had certain… limitations. Namely, that it was only really useful if you happened to be a tourist seeking famous landmarks and posh cafés.

“Why don’t I walk you over? I can introduce you two.”

I tried to not frown as I got the distinct feeling that Phoenix wanted to chat with me. I wasn’t one for being known, though in this case I doubted I had much of a choice. After all, Phoenix was the most on-hand magician in the palace, and I was going to have to request a lot more incantations from him. I did my best to sound enthusiastic as I forced a friendly expression.

“Sure, why don’t you lead the way?”

* * *

Even though it was early in the morning, the stone tiles were already hot underfoot. Columns of mist drifted up lazily from the cool surface of the canals below.

I was suddenly grateful that the Countess had provided several changes of clothes — I’d brought my summer garments of light wools and linens, but it was now obvious that they still would’ve been too heavy for this weather. Whatever clothing the Countess had given me was loose-fitting and airy, and felt silky against my skin.

"So, what do you think of Vesuvia?" Phoenix asked conversationally.

"Warm," I replied. "And uh, the architecture's different here.”

"Nadia said you're from Hjalle, right? Is it true that in the winter, there are entire weeks that go by with no sunlight?"

"Well, no. Hjalle isn't _that_ far South. It still does get really dark in the winter, though. And there are the Southern Lights, which are pretty neat."

The walk down the stairs out of the palace went the same way, with Phoenix asking all sorts of questions about Hjalle and me awkwardly answering them.

In between answering his questions, I was noticing the effect he had on those around him. The servants smiled and waved at him, and Phoenix returned their greetings, a self-conscious smile on his face. As we stepped out the gate, walking over the moat, I did my best not to peek down at the eels below. Something about their writhing bodies played havoc with my sleepy mind, and so I kept my eyes focused forward and beyond the drawbridge.

As we made our way across, Phoenix cleared his throat.

“You know, I could probably just teach you how to write incantations. That way you can do them yourself in the future.” I glanced at him, before shaking my head and saying bluntly:

“I have no magic.”

This was a bit of information I only shared with great reluctance. Having no natural magic wasn’t entirely unheard of, but it was exceedingly rare.

In Hjalle, the other magicians had very gradually come to respect me, recognizing that even in my unusual circumstance, I’d managed to make a name for myself in constructing wards.

Whenever I traveled to a new place, however… I found it much more in my interests to simply not divulge this bit of information. Inevitably, someone would assume I was lying and start arguing with me, or, even worse — they’d discover I wasn’t lying, and take pity on me.

Phoenix reacted in a way I’d come to anticipate.

“You’re underestimating yourself. Everyone has the ability to do magic — it just needs to be nurtured. Trust me, it’s not as intimidating as you’d think,” he informed me, his voice kind and assuring.

“No, really — I can’t do it,” I said as the two of us stepped through the gate and began to make our way down into the city.

Phoenix shook his head, and I could tell he still didn’t believe me.

“Look,” I said, wanting to put an end to this conversation. “If every one of my mentors couldn’t find any magic in me, you won’t either.”

Truth be told, I’d tried to do magic for the longest time. When I was young, I’d been absolutely fascinated with it. At a certain age, I’d been gifted a beginner’s spellbook by means of a sympathetic aunt. I started with the most basic of spells — conjuring a mote of light — and found myself utterly incapable.

I’d figured that if I focused myself, anything was possible. That magic was simply more challenging for me than it was for others. That I’d eventually develop the knack for it, if I just kept practicing.

I never did manage to conjure up that mote of light.

The thought that Phoenix was so certain there was something buried in me that I’d simply missed didn’t comfort me — it was just frustrating.

I didn’t see him pull them out of his satchel, but somehow when I glanced back at Phoenix, he held a slightly worn deck of cards in his hands. I knew instantly what they were, and I did my best not to groan aloud as I stared at the tarot cards he shifted from palm to palm.

“Well, how about I give you a reading?” he offered, taking a step outside of the crowd and underneath a tree growing in a large terracotta pot. I thought the entire idea was absurd, but for the sake of getting along, I knew that I’d have to bite my tongue. I joined him under the shade of the tree.

“So… do I draw a card?” I asked, but Phoenix shook his head.

“Not quite. I’ll draw a card, and it will tell me about you.” He gestured towards my hands and I outstretched them, waiting for the card as he shuffled his deck. With a graceful motion, he pulled the top card from it and handed it to me. I stared blankly at the illustration.

Painted on the card was a lion-headed figure. Tawny wings splayed out behind her, and a white-and-black tiled wheel adorned the bottom of the image.

I couldn’t decide whether her eyes looked hungry or impassive.

I looked to Phoenix for an explanation, and was surprised to see his brows creased in a look of concentration as he stared at the card in my hand.

“Wheel of Fortune reversed?” he muttered to himself, seemingly mystified. Then, a sudden look of understanding washed over him. “Oh… I see,” he said softly, with a slight intake of breath.

“Bad luck of the draw,” he explained simply, shifting his gaze upward to look at me. His face was solemn.

I raised an eyebrow. To me, this seemed like a generic explanation someone might invent to rationalize my lack of magic, but Phoenix seemed honestly troubled by it.

“Very enlightening,” I replied, doing my best to feign interest as Phoenix took his card back. I felt uncomfortable as a familiar look of pity entered his eyes. I cleared my throat, deciding I’d rather not ask for him to elaborate on the reading.

“So, er, should we get going?” He paused before nodding his head, seemingly as keen as myself to avoid delving more deeply into the insight of the cards.

“Right, yes. My master is this way.”

We merged back into the crowd, and I felt the nagging urge to say something. Phoenix seemed unsettled after my card reading, and even though I wasn’t exactly the most socially graceful person, the creeping silence was becoming uncomfortable.

“So, how goes the detective work?” I asked. Phoenix turned, a slightly worried frown on his face. I’d hoped that my question would pique his interest, but instead he looked even more lost in thought.

Previously he’d been wandering in front of me, but now he began to lag till we were side by side, his lips pursed as he did so.

“It’s… well, it’s all very mysterious.” He paused before laughing, then continued in a slightly uncomfortable voice.

“Of course, I can’t share everything, but I at least think I’m on the right track. There’s an abandoned wing of the palace — have you heard of it?”

If I remembered correctly, Micah had said we’d been directly beneath it the other day.

“It’s supposed to be haunted, right?” I asked hesitantly, ready to dismiss any ghost stories while also nervously thinking back to that mangled arm. Phoenix nodded his head before lowering his voice.

“I went back there with Portia. There’s definitely something odd about the place,” he muttered in a conspiratorial tone.

“What kind of odd?” I implored further. Phoenix’s voice dropped even lower, and continued in a quiet voice.

“It sounds crazy, but… I think it might be the ghost of Count Lucio.” I stared at him, knowing that I was not hiding all of my disbelief. For a second I was sure he was joking, but the look in his eyes informed me that this was not the case.

“That’s… quite peculiar,” I offered as he simply rubbed his arm, his face pensive. He seemed to mistake my skepticism for jitteriness, and I chose to let him believe it.

I decided to change the subject.

“Any new leads on your suspect — the doctor who murdered the Count? Have you gotten any hints on where he might be hiding?” I inquired, trying to steer our conversation into less blatantly occult waters. Phoenix blinked before looking at me in slight confusion.

“Any leads…?” he repeated, sounding a bit confused. Then a spark seemed to go off in Phoenix’s head and he had a sudden, violent coughing fit.

“Yes, of course, Julian! He’s… certainly an elusive man. I’ve, uh, gained a lot of knowledge about him… although, much of the information is conflicting. I’m just trying to sort it out, I suppose.” I stared at him, fully aware he was hiding something. I considered prying at the subject, but before I got a chance, Phoenix glanced ahead of us, a smile crossing his face.

“We’re here!”

He’d taken me a few streets beyond the bustling marketplace and onto a cobblestoned walkway, where it was noticeably quieter. Up ahead was a quaint building with a wooden sign. There were no words inscribed on it — just an illustration of a serpent, mortar, and pestle.

Phoenix walked up with quick steps, approaching the door and opening it up without so much as knocking. He graciously stepped aside, inviting me to enter.

Inside, the space was small and comfortable. Bunches of exotic herbs were strung up from the ceiling, drying in the warm air. Light streamed through purple-tinted glass windows, giving the shop a mystic atmosphere.

And behind a counter, I saw dozens upon dozens of variously sized glass jars containing familiar magic ingredients.

“Hello, Asra!” Phoenix called in a friendly voice, and I looked up to see him smiling towards a white-haired man padding down a wooden staircase. Unsurprisingly, it was the same magician I’d seen standing with Phoenix when I’d first arrived in Vesuvia. He smiled fondly as Phoenix greeted him, looking a little surprised to see him here.

Something I’d mistaken for a pale lavender scarf began to move around his neck, and I realized with a start that it wasn’t a scarf, but a snake. It unwound itself, slithering its way onto Phoenix’s shoulders. Its forked tongue flicked at his nose, making him laugh.

“Faust, stop it!”

For a moment, my attention was genuinely stolen. This creature was a familiar. I’d encountered them plenty of times in my life — many magicians had one — but every time I did, I found myself entranced.

I watched as it playfully wrapped itself around Phoenix in a mimicry of a hug, its actions clearly not that of a normal snake. Asra was beaming fondly down at his young apprentice, a hand resting in a friendly fashion on the man’s cheek… _wait._

I’d been so distracted by the familiar, that I had missed some of the body language between the two magicians. My eyes darted away — I’d never been comfortable in the presence of flirting. Instead, I focused on the vials that lined the counters, pretending I was suddenly and tremendously fascinated with their contents.

“Asra, this is Finch. Nadia hired them to tighten security at the palace. They actually just traveled here all the way from Hjalle!” I looked up to find myself staring into Asra’s purple gaze. He looked curious as he took a couple steps forward, his snake peering inquisitively over his shoulder at me. I stared back, halfway tempted to ask if I could hold it.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Asra said with a smile, offering out a hand to me. I accepted it, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you as well,” I echoed, breaking the handshake and quickly fishing about for the list in my pocket.

“Finch is, well, working on some sort of clandestine project at the palace,” Phoenix said, looking over at me for help.

“I’m enchanting the locks to make the palace safer,” I explained simply, not feeling like getting into the nitty gritty of my job as I offered the parchment out to Asra. Asra nodded his head, white curls bouncing as he reviewed my list. He paused for a moment, a slender eyebrow raising.

“You need incantations?”

Right — I forgotten I’d written that down on the list.

“Yes, but Phoenix says he can provide those for me,” I said quickly, wanting to hurry the conversation up. I glanced to Phoenix for help, but he had become distracted by the snake, which was currently twisting itself in his hair. He was softly chatting with it, and I realized that he wasn’t hearing our conversation because it was chatting back — through a familiar’s telepathy.

“You work in a magical craft, surely you can do these yourself? These are after all, for the most basic of beginners.” I detected the teasing jab in his voice and narrowed my eyes.

“I have no magical ability,” I said, wishing Phoenix would stop playing with the admittedly very cute snake and help me out. Asra gave a laugh, and for some reason, the sound of it made my blood boil ever so slightly.

“Everyone has magic.” Asra said with a sigh, shaking his head. “But I suppose it can be more difficult for some to learn.”

I didn’t bother to hide the scowl on my face.

“Neat. How much will it be for the ingredients?” If anything, Asra seemed more amused by my irritation as he viewed my list.

“Oh, I can provide these to you for no charge. No doubt Nadia will cover them for you, though if you have no magic, I don’t know how you’re planning on setting up magical locks.”

This was a frequent question that I encountered. Those with a natural inclination for magic described it in terms of feeling, and training that feeling into a fine-honed tool. To the most skilled of magicians, magic was akin to breathing — a natural reflex they were constantly in tune with.

I would never experience that feeling. To me, magic was abstract: something more in the realm of math and chemistry. Developing new wards and charms was its own unique calculus, and it often involved me spending hours over a desk, scribbling equations of herbs and minerals.

The only element I lacked in the end was the actual spark of magic — which is where the written incantations came in. Normally, these were for beginners — a way to practice through complex patterns while guided through a mentor’s touchstone.

I’d long since mastered the actual patterns. What the written incantations provided was that spark, imbued by whichever magician inscribed it.

“I have my ways,” I replied simply, with more than a little salt in my voice. Asra would have likely responded with something snarky, but his attention was stolen as Phoenix carefully guided the snake back onto the other magician’s shoulders.

“I think Faust missed me,” Phoenix said with a laugh as Asra allowed the slender creature to curl about his arm.

“Her and me both,” Asra said with a smile, before offering Phoenix the list. “This will be good practice for you, Phoenix — go locate the ingredients on this list. Maybe Finch can come with you as well, so they may also gain some experience.”

I considered throttling him, but instead simply nodded my head. Asra’s scavenger hunt proved to be fairly easy for Phoenix. It was clear he was very familiar with the shop, and I trailed behind as he gathered up the ingredients I needed, only commenting to say how much of each material I would need.

As Phoenix dropped the last mineral into a satchel, he turned with a smile, offering the bag to me. I accepted it, my insincere smile which I’d been holding since we began this exercise still plastered to my face as I turned to Asra.

“I’m sure Nadia will appreciate the assistance,” I said, frowning.

“Yes, I suppose she will.” His brow crinkled for a second, as though he was trying to recall something, but I wasn’t exactly keen on waiting around to find out what it was. Instead, I turned on my heel and made my way for the door. Phoenix waved a farewell to his master before following me. As we stepped out onto the street, Phoenix let out a sigh, a happy smile on his face.

“It’s always so nice to see Asra.”

“He seems like a very talented magician,” I said through teeth that were ever-so-slightly gritted. There was no note of sarcasm in my voice, though. I may have not had the ability to sense magic, but a general rule of thumb was the more self-assured the magician was, the more powerful they were. Phoenix nodded his head, seeming to miss the irritation in my voice as we made our way forward.

“He really is, he’s…” Phoenix began, before trailing off. I noticed that his eyes had suddenly fixed on something to the side of the crowd, and I followed his perturbed gaze.

An enormous man loomed from a distance, positioned in the afternoon shade and away from the crowd. Alarmingly, the man was staring straight at us. His eyes were oddly fearful, and he seemed torn whether to approach us or not. For a brief moment, I’d swear I’d seen chains around his wrists and a thick collar about his neck, as if he were some sort of shackled animal.

“Who _is_ that?” I asked, but Phoenix looked equally confused. He took a step towards the massive figure, and without warning, the man moved away.

“Wait, hold on!” Phoenix called out, and to my alarm, as the man began to flee down the street, Phoenix disappeared after him. The way the man quickly lumbered off made me think of a bear that’d accidentally wandered into the thick of a city, and was making a hasty retreat.

I nearly chased after them, mostly out of fear for what might happen to Phoenix if he actually caught up to the strange man. But just as they turned into an alleyway, I felt an intense tug of magic pull at my mind.

I couldn’t sense magic directly, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t aware of when magic was trying very, very hard to manipulate me.

And if I was correct, this man had the most powerful Glamour of Forgetting that I’d ever encountered. I could practically feel the magic trying to persuade me, tempting my mind with all sorts of distractions, anything to make me forget the man I’d just seen…

And then my thoughts trailed off, my attention diverted by a prominent “wanted” poster ahead of me.

I tilted my head, reading the large font above the picture. _Julian Devorak_ , it spelled out in large black words. An artist’s sketch portrayed a roguish-looking man with a devil-may-care grin on his face. I paused, wondering why exactly the artist drew a reprehensible criminal to be so aesthetically pleasing.

Nevertheless, I stared at the image for a good several seconds, setting the face in my memory just in case I did end up catching a glimpse of him. I glanced behind me, surprised to find that Phoenix had left my side.

I had the strangest feeling that there was a reason for his absence, but I’d just forgotten it. I quickly dismissed the weird gap in my memory — if I didn’t remember, it probably wasn’t important.

By the time I reached the steps of the Vesuvian Palace, it was well into the late afternoon and I was absolutely exhausted from climbing so many stairs.

Absentmindedly, I noticed Consul Valerius socializing in one of the small gardens aside the palace’s facade. He would’ve likely not have caught my attention if it weren’t for the words exiting his mouth.

“That woman will simply wreck Vesuvia. I suspect she was the one who did away with the Count in the first place.” He punctuated his statement with a dramatic wave of his wine glass, and the nobles around him murmured in agreement.

“She has no idea what she’s doing, and she expects me to quietly step out of the way. She has _no idea_ what consequences I could make her face...”

Surreptitiously, I inched a little closer to the conversation, hiding behind a rosebush. I couldn’t help but feel a sudden thrum of excitement in my stomach.

This had been what Nadia had told me to look out for — a plot against her. I watched Valerius for a good few seconds, before realizing I probably looked suspicious and quickly turned back towards the palace. The locks would be settled soon, but it seemed I had a new task. Like a spark alighting in my brain, I realized that I would have to keep an eye on the good Consul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My co-writer and I were discussing the implications of Asra only having "half a heart", which according to the devs makes it harder for him to form connections to people... Well, our guess is that he occasionally comes off as pretty damn cold to strangers.
> 
> Finch being bad at social interaction certainly does not help the matter.


	5. The Consul

After quietly watching Consul Valerius for about a day or so, I’d learned exactly two things about him.

Firstly, that he was even more of a snob than I’d initially taken him for.

And secondly, that he was an astonishingly flighty man.

At first, I tried to coincidentally set up my “locksmithing” tasks nearby. As soon as I noticed him heading into a sitting room or onto a terrace, I’d wait a few minutes, and then begin working on a new lock right around a corner. Or, if being in the Consul’s line of sight couldn’t be helped, I’d busy myself with some imaginary cleaning task, all while keeping an eye on him discreetly.

With my servant’s outfit on, his eyes swept past me as if I was no more than a fleck of dust. My hope was that I’d catch him chatting to another trusted noble — a confidante scheming alongside him to usurp the Countess, perhaps.

He certainly did a lot of complaining about Nadia. He also did a lot of complaining in regards to just about everything else. Whether it was concerning bad taste in decor, insufficient lighting, or the presence of Phoenix — whom he seemed to take an odd issue with — the Consul was a generally displeased man.

I needed something more than petty complaints, though. After all, Valerius was a high-ranking official. True, some of the things he said about Nadia were downright poisonous… but hating one’s boss was not a chargeable offense. None of it was good enough to present as evidence of treason.

I was convinced that if I could just catch him long enough in a conversation, he’d eventually drop a hint of some scheme. He struck me as a vain sort of man — surely he wouldn’t be able to keep everything to himself.

I’d scarcely have set down my tools, however, when he’d take off to some new location. 

Just as I noticed at the dinner event, he seemed agitated by something — too restless to stay in any particular room for very long.

 _Could it be the anxiety of a man plotting against a Countess?_ I thought, intrigued by his behavior. If anything, his flightiness was making me even more suspicious of him.

And soon, I learned another pressing bit of information — that the Consul was set to travel back to his estate in about a week’s time, something he was evidently looking forward to. This certainly put more urgency in my investigation. Clearly, I was foolish thinking he would openly confess to any illicit plans in the open.

So I decided to amp it up a notch.

The next time I saw the Consul pass me in a hallway, I didn’t bother setting down my tools, or pretend to dust a shelf in a servant-like fashion.

Instead, I started stealthily following him. I kept a reasonable distance behind him as to evade his notice.

My heart pounded a little with both excitement and trepidation. Would anyone take notice of me stalking one of the highest ranking nobles in Vesuvia? But as I passed various members of the palace, what I’d previously observed was reemphasized yet again — nobody paid attention to the servants. Convenient.

After a few minutes of trailing him through the halls, he began ascending a spiraling staircase I hadn’t explored yet. _Maybe this is what I’ve been missing,_ I thought hopefully. _Maybe he’s doing all his secret planning in a quarter of the palace I’ve never even been to._

He went up another set of stairs. And then another.

At this point, I didn’t have to consciously keep my distance — somehow, while I was rapidly losing my breath, Consul Valerius was keeping a remarkably even pace. As I clambered up the high stone steps, I was actually in danger of losing him.

Luckily for me, the seemingly never-ending staircase abruptly ended, and he chose not to start ascending another. What he did instead was enter a small room off to the side. I could see from a shadow on a brightly illuminated wall that there was already another person standing inside it.

Quickly, I crouched silently beside the door, praying that neither of them decided to make a sudden exit. This sequestered quarter of the palace was empty of other people, and if I was found, my presence would be highly questionable to say the least.

Still catching my breath, I listened in eagerly.

“Warden Bertram — I’ve been searching for you.”

“What a, er, _pleasant surprise_ , Consul Valerius. Was there something you needed?” The second, unfamiliar voice was deep and resonant, touched with a note of uncertainty. I envisioned a broad-figured man standing on the other side of the wall.

“There certainly is. Tell me — why is there an order of guardsmen wearing non-standard armor?” Consul Valerius asked in a low, accusing hiss.

“Their armor is under repair at the moment. Can’t be helped. The guards had to construct an emergency canal the other night to prevent the East Road from flooding — our men were up to their waists in mud and debris. In the meantime, there’s nothing functionally wrong with the old sets of armor.”

“There’ll be _something_ wrong if a visiting envoy catches notice. Think of it. If someone sees an order of guards with outdated armor that doesn’t match the others, they’ll naturally assume that Vesuvia’s coffers are running dry. That we cannot afford even to _defend ourselves_.”

I leaned back onto the wall. In this clandestine, far-off section of the palace, I’d anticipated hearing high-value secrets — if not actual conspiracies against the Countess, then at least some scandalous gossip about members of the court.

But instead… Valerius came all this way just to berate a warden about _fashion?_

I was flummoxed.

My hearing refocused on the conversation again — it sounded like their discussion was wrapping up. The warden was telling Valerius that he’d speak with the repairs staff to hurry the process up, which struck me as a lie. In the meantime, Valerius sounded irritated, but appeased enough. I darted to hide in a side chamber as I heard the scuffling of moving feet.

Through a crack in the door, I saw the Consul walk down the hall and turn around a corner. Feeling annoyed, yet still determined to follow through with my investigation, I hurried along the hall to see where he was headed off to next.

As I rounded the corner, I realized he was no longer in sight.

Which made no sense.

The corridor ended with a small storage room and a small, lancet-shaped window. The storage room was practically bare — there was absolutely nowhere for a tall man to hide. And even if the Consul was the sort to climb out of windows — which I very much doubted — the gap was far too thin for a human to squeeze through.

I cursed under my breath.

* * *

The next two days continued in a similar way.

At first, I was convinced the first disappearing act had been a fluke. After all, how sneaky could a noble with a drinking problem be? But the longer I attempted to follow him, the more I realized that I was being outmaneuvered at every turn.

In just about every instance, I’d be tailing right behind him, and then he’d suddenly stroll into a room, or turn a corner, or disappear behind a pillar. Afterwards, he might be gone for several hours, as if he’d entered some in-between space that didn’t exist within the confines of reality.

The only conclusion I could draw was that the Consul had a masterful knowledge of every magic passageway in the palace. A knowledge that surpassed even Portia’s, apparently — at one point, I showed her a room that he’d vanished through, and she told me with a puzzled-yet-intrigued expression that she didn’t know of any passageways in that area.

I was convinced that if I could just catch one glimpse of him exiting through one of his secret portals, I’d figure him out. There had to be some little trick I was missing.

The next time I encountered Valerius, I’d been taking a rare break. I was sitting at a table in the servants’ corridors, munching on a dense roll of barley bread. 

And then I heard it. The now-familiar _click-click-click_ of those stupid gold-toed shoes, passing me by in the hall.

I tried to ignore it. I knew it was a fool’s errand to try to catch him in the act of vanishing. I really did want to finish my bread roll.

But I could no more resist pursuing the clicking of those heels than a cactus cat could resist fermented nectar.

Guiltily leaving my half-eaten barley roll on the table, I darted out of the servants’ corridors and after the evasive man.

This time, he was headed in a totally different direction, and my stomach lurched a little with anticipation as I realized where he was headed — near Nadia’s quarters.

This time, it was a struggle to hold back from following him too closely. I forced myself to stop in my tracks a few times. _This is my chance_ , I thought. _Why else would he be going so close to Nadia’s quarters?_

But even following so narrowly behind, I quickly lost him — _again._

“Damn it!” I snapped, feeling color rise to my cheeks. I surreptitiously glanced around, making sure I was really alone, and then ran my hands over the wall, trying to feel where a passageway might be.

I was so focused on trying to detect one that I nearly missed the very obvious door, and almost ran headfirst into a decorative pillar. Caught off guard, I took a step back.

The panel was huge and elaborate, embedded into a curved archway. Its surface was inlaid with carved components of richly-hued wood, altogether manifesting into a stately and fruitful tree. Each fruit bore a precious stone within its center.

Spellbound, I approached, realizing that this must’ve been the library door that Nadia had casually mentioned.

“Wouldn’t it be a wonder if I could actually get in?” I muttered, reaching forward.

There was no handle. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what I should do next.

Tentatively, I placed a hand on the panel, pressing inward. To my surprise, the panel didn’t swing open, but instead folded in upon itself. Apparently, the door hadn’t been locked. From within the construction, I could hear the gentle clicking of unseen mechanisms. 

I tried to remember if Nadia had said I was allowed in the library, but couldn’t seem to summon up any memory telling me either way.

Well, it couldn’t hurt to take a peek.

Carefully, I slid inside, closing the door behind me. I was met with a quiet coolness as I stepped forward.

The windows were narrow and cathedral-like, and the soft light that spilled through illuminated little motes of dust in the air. I breathed in deeply, my nose filling with the scent of aging leather bindings and the papery-vanilla aroma of parchment.

Slowly, I walked through the immense room, filled with a sense of calm — the silence was so penetrating, I could’ve heard a pin drop. If Valerius did escape through here, he was long gone, but my annoyance at losing him was vastly overshadowed by my awe of the royal library.

Directly behind me, I heard a voice.

“Ah, _Finch_.”

I whipped around.

Abruptly, I found myself staring into the face of Quaestor Valdemar. Their white cloth mask was level with my eyes, just a few feet away — _how’d they get so close?_

“You’re the servant who seems to be unable to keep their hands off the palace locks.”

“Come again?” I asked, desperately hoping I’d heard wrong.

Unnervingly, the Quaestor sharply angled their head to one side.

“You’ve been altering the locks.”

Though their mouth was still hidden, I detected a smile through the crinkle of their eyes. They seemed absolutely delighted to tell me this parcel of information.

“Well, yes, I suppose that is true,” I admitted hesitantly, trying not to show any emotion. Internally, I was feeling pretty alarmed that someone had been watching me without my knowledge. Paranoid that Vulgora would stumble upon my work and take offense, I’d been constantly keeping on guard for any suspicious onlookers.

The fact that I’d missed someone was… disturbing, to say the least.

“Not just a single lock, either. It seems there’s hardly a lock in the palace you haven’t touched,” they continued, tapping a foot against the wood floor.

“Maybe I just think they’re neat,” I replied, taking a step back. If they wanted to play games, I wouldn’t hesitate to either.

Valdemar leaned forward, intentionally broaching well into my personal space bubble. This close up, I could see for the first time that their skin held a sickly pallor. I caught a whiff of that sterilizing chemical scent again.

“Really! What a _fascinating_ hobby you have.”

There was something they weren’t telling me, but _what_? How much did they know about my presence at the palace?

They paused for an agonizing moment, and I tensed, mentally preparing for the worst. Would they try to punish me? Of course, it was the Countess herself who had hired me, so there was a limit to their actions.

On the other hand… what if they delivered me directly to Pontifex Vulgora?

“If that is the case… would you like to see a special lock?” They straightened, the medical mask still hiding their smile as they held my gaze.

Out of all the scenarios racing through my mind, this was the last thing I expected them to say. I was so taken aback, I almost startled myself with my next words.

“Sure, I’d be interested in seeing that,” I replied against my better judgement, berating myself for my curiosity even as I spoke. 

The Quaestor’s eyes upturned a little more, immediately letting me know that I’d made a mistake. With long strides, they made their way to the bookshelves, looking back to me and beckoning.

“Follow along, then.”

I dubiously followed behind them, unsure as to what exactly was about to happen. Valdemar ran a gloved finger along the book spines before they seemed to find what they were looking for. With a gentle tug, they pulled a book forward on the shelf, and then another, and another.

There was a creak, and one of the bookshelves swung open in front of them.

“ _Another type of secret passageway!_ ” I muttered bitterly under my breath, staring at the bookshelf in annoyance. Was _this_ the sort of trick Valerius was using to jaunt about the palace?

Valdemar turned, motioning for me to walk over to a stone tunnel that had been unveiled behind the bookshelf.

“Come along. It’s a bit of a stroll.”

I followed. The tunnel had already been lit with slow-burning torches, softly fizzling against the dark. This was definitely a very old part of the palace — the steps downwards were uneven and craggy, and the air held a damp and cavernous smell.

“I’ve been wanting to ask... how’s Micah doing?” I broached, cutting through the eerie silence of the tunnel.

“Micah…?” the Quaestor inquired nonchalantly.

“You know, the servant with the bite on his arm? I was there when you took him away to an infirmary or something, to treat his wound…”

“Ohhh, yes. _That_ Micah. Yes, yes, you may be assured that he is perfectly well,” they responded, offering concerningly minimal detail.

“So, Finch… for how long have you been tampering with locks?”

While I stumbled down the weathered steps, nearly losing my balance a few times, Valdemar by contrast was descending down them gracefully, as if they’d done so a thousand times before.

“It was, uh, the year of the bad cold snap in Hjalle, when all the rivers froze over… so about seventeen years now, I think,” I said vaguely. Valdemar glanced back at me.

“You’re thirty-two, then? Odd, you look younger.” 

I had no idea if they were trying to be flattering or not, but I knew for a fact that the faint lines between my brows I saw in the mirror every morning didn't lie. I didn’t challenge them though, instead shrugging my shoulders.

“Well, thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

“What made you decide to work for our dear Countess, Finch?” questioned Valdemar.

So they _did_ know I was working for Nadia. I coughed into my sleeve.

“The… pay was good?” The fact that I didn’t know what information they were looking for — and more importantly, what I should be hiding from them — was giving me an uneasy feeling.

“A fair answer, I suppose,” Valdemar said in a musing voice. I felt like they were gaining a lot more from this conversation than they should, and the spotlight that had been thrust upon me was becoming rapidly uncomfortable.

“Er… what about yourself? You mentioned that you were Head Physician, right? Were you one of the doctors working here during the plague?” I said, awkwardly trying to nudge the conversation away from myself.

A soft, sad sigh emitted from in front of me. It sounded full of both nostalgia and yearning.

“Ah, the plague — what a time to be alive. Not much for me to do now that it’s over.”

A decidedly strange thing to say, but I made no remark on it. From experience, I knew that specialists in any given field could often be a bit eccentric.

“Ah, well, maybe you’ll get another one, right?” I said, my tone light and joking. They glanced back at me, their red eyes studying me.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Who knows what the future holds,” they responded mysteriously, before turning back and pointing ahead.

“Oh, look. We’re here.”

Up ahead, I saw a barred elevator. Peculiarly, red light seeped from beneath the platform, as if a vermilion fire had been lit under it — some variety of strange magic I didn’t recognize. It distorted our shadows against the wall in an unsettling way.

Welded onto the iron bars was a heavy-looking lock.

“Go on, take a look,” encouraged Valdemar, stepping nimbly to the side and allowing me to pass. I shrugged and did as they asked, walking up the lock with real interest. 

As I clambered down the last of the precipitous steps, I felt Valdemar place a stabilizing hand on my shoulder, guiding me forward. Even through a leather glove, their hand was bitingly cold.

I crouched down. There was a carved inscription on the lock that read:

“ _Bloody hands may turn the key. Know the weight of your sins, and enter._ ”

“Only those with blood on their hands may enter?” I asked in disbelief, more to myself than to Valdemar.

“A very interesting lock, isn’t it?” Valdemar said quietly.

I stood up and brushed their hand off with some difficulty.

That inscription was nonsense, and I was determined to prove it. In all my years of study, I’d never heard of a lock that would only allow the guilty to enter. No matter how well-constructed, a charm couldn’t judge morality.

From my case, I removed a small, thin object resembling a silvery flute. If I were a magician, I might be able to press a hand to the lock and ignite the charm to examine it. As someone who hadn’t been blessed with magic, I’d found a workaround of sorts.

I blew a quick, practiced exhalation of air into the flute. A fine mist of particles ejected from it, briefly leaving a dusty haze around the lock. _No reaction. Huh._

I puzzled at this for a moment, resting a few fingers on my chin. This could either mean that there was no magic here at all… or it could mean that the magic was very, very old.

I replaced the powder in the flute. Haemetite was normally my first choice of ingredient — it reacted quickly with most modern charms. More ancient charms, however, tended to be constructed a little differently, and often reacted better with lyngurium.

I exhaled into the flute again. This time, the mist of particles lit up as soon as they drew near the lock. A network of white glyphs flared up on the iron surface — faint, but still bright. My hypothesis was confirmed.

As I leaned back to study the glyphs, I slowly became cognizant of a cold breeze at the back of my neck. I’d subconsciously assumed that it was current of air, a slight draft from the library floor… but no, that couldn’t be right.

The cold breeze wasn’t a draft — it was too evenly paced, too unnatural. There was a creeping feeling up my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. 

It was Quaestor Valdemar _breathing._

I forced myself to swallow my discomfort, choosing to ignore their proximity. Admitting fear felt like the wrong choice, somehow.

“What _is_ that?” they asked, their voice disconcertingly close to my ear, and I realized they were peering over my shoulder to observe the flute-like object in my hand. They now sounded genuinely curious.

“Just a device I created,” I replied, feeling my skin prickle. “It allows me to detect glyphs, since natural magic isn’t an option for me.”

“How curious,” they replied simply.

I expected them to comment on my lack of magic, but they instead remained silent. If anything, I got the distinct impression that they were judging me more so for the dingy appearance of the flute. I had to admit — it did have a crude, homemade look about it.

I continued work on interpreting the glyphs for a while, all while under Valdemar’s unnervingly intense gaze.

“Tricky little thing, isn’t it?” Valdemar finally said, sounding pleased. 

“Tricky, yes — but that engraving’s a lie,” I said, finally understanding what I was looking at. I straightened up, nearly ramming my head directly into Valdemar’s chin as I did. I turned to them, feeling satisfied with my findings.

“There’s no such thing as a charm that can tell if you’ve got blood on your hands — or, at the very least, this lock doesn’t have any charm like that on it.”

“Really?” Valdemar paused, reaching into a pocket of their black apron and offering me a key. “Are you absolutely _sure?_ ” 

I took the key and placed it in the keyhole without hesitation, turning it with ease. There was a click of the lock engaging, and the door slid open.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I replied, turning back with a smile. Valdemar was staring at me with a look of slight interest.

“It’s a confidence charm,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets. “It only stops you from opening it if you’re worried about not being able to get inside.”

They stared at me for a second, and with no warning began to laugh. The peal of laughter was cold and uncanny, ending as abruptly as it began. They pressed a hand to the side of their face.

“How _very_ clever of you. It has been simply ages since anyone else has discovered that particular bit of deceit.”

I shrugged my shoulders, glancing back at the elevator, for the first time wondering where exactly it led.

“Why does an elevator require a lock like that, anyway?” I pried as I offered Valdemar’s key back to them. “And where does it lead?”

They leaned forward, once again infringing on my personal space.

“Oh, it leads down into the dungeons, of course. Down to where we conducted our research during the Red Plague. The doctors were the only ones intended to use this elevator.”

I stared at them before I managed to put two and two together.

“The doctors believed that inscription?” I said, glancing back at the haunting words on the lock, before looking back to Valdemar. “That’s a bit of a dirty trick to play on them.”

Valdemar’s smile was still clearly present behind their mask.

“True, but it was ever so funny.” 

I raised an eyebrow, thinking about it.

They weren’t wrong, it _was_ funny — but in a sadistic and possibly life-altering way. I looked back to the lock, wondering how on earth they’d even gotten something like this approved, before simply shrugging it off. I had more important things to occupy my mind with.

“Well, I appreciate you showing me the lock, Quaestor,” I said politely as I moved to step around them, eager to make my way out of the tunnel. Valdemar held out a hand, stopping me in my tracks. They glanced behind me, a sparkle in their red eyes.

“If you’d like, I’ll take you on a tour of the dungeons. It is such a fascinating place — and, after all, you did get the lock open... so I suppose it’s only fitting you have the opportunity to see what’s beyond it.” 

They tilted their head invitingly.

“Oh no, thank you. I’m good,” I said, not bothering to glance back. This had been an interesting waste of time, but I was more than eager to leave both the creepy tunnel and the Quaestor, who had invaded my personal space quite enough already.

Valdemar looked… confused.

“What?” they asked, clearly unsure if they’d heard me right.

“Look, I’ve really got to get back to work,” I excused myself, looking back towards the elevator dismissively.

“Besides, you probably have better things to do than to show a servant around. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time.” I offered them a polite smile, which they did not return. Their expression indicated they were still perplexed by my refusal, as I carefully made my way around them.

Looking up the stone tunnel towards the library ignited a strange and sudden instinct I hadn’t been aware of.

 _Run,_ said a whisper from the back of my mind. _Run up those stairs, and don’t look behind you._

I didn’t run, of course — but I did pick up my pace a little. 

They did not follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Valdemar even need to breathe? Probably not, but I bet they'd do it at inopportune moments to freak people out.
> 
> On a side note, I drew all the courtiers + Finch as Animal Crossing villagers! If you wanna see what Finch looks like (at least as a tiny deer), the link to my Tumblr post is [here.](https://nightjarteeth.tumblr.com/post/641988775385448448/arcana-courtiers-as-animal-crossing-villagers)


End file.
